


all the stars are closer ☆

by joeri



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Sex, Blow Jobs, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Cooking, Cunnilingus, Day At The Beach, Domestic Fluff, Double Dating, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Familial Abuse, First Time, Frottage, Gay Awakening, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Open Relationships, PTA au, Panic Attacks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetic, Porn Magazines, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Public Hand Jobs, Rough Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, Shopping, Shower Sex, Simulation, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Harukawa Maki, Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuichi, Ultimate Talent Development Plan (Dangan Ronpa), Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Watersports, distraction sex, postgame, single dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-04-20 14:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 48,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14263152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeri/pseuds/joeri
Summary: one-shot dump for NDRV3!momota is my favorite, hence the title, so there'll be a lot of him (and saimota). most are G rated, but some are R rated. all are tagged for! i no longer update this anymore. any new ndrv3 drabbles or content by me will be posted apart. thanks for all the comments and kudos!table of contents in the notes!!!





	1. Momoharu | Girl of my Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> TABLE OF CONTENTS:  
> oo1 + momoharu reincarnation au | 3,345  
> oo2 + momoharu florist au | 2,378  
> oo3 + saimota pwp lingerie kink [18+] | 393  
> oo4 + momoharu maki comes out as wlw | 512  
> oo5 + momoharu home planet | 1,822  
> oo6 + oumota hangar talk | 827  
> oo7 + saimota shower frottage [18+] | 5,340  
> oo8 + oumota pwp distraction sex [18+] | 2,298  
> oo9 + saimota kissing | 181  
> o1o + saimota pwp watersports [18+] | 1,058  
> o11 + kaemaki talent reveal | 1,530  
> o12 + haruma maki takes care of drunk miu | 3,443  
> o13 + saimota nightmares/mourning | 554  
> o14 + saimota pwp public hand jobs [18+] | 324  
> o15 + saimota hand holding | 328  
> o16 + oumota afterlife talk | 2,181  
> o17 + tenmaki shopping date | 1,899  
> o18 + saimota pwp first time [18+] | 1,177  
> o19 + irumatsu beach date | 1,672  
> o20 + kaemaki kissing | 408  
> o21 + momoharu pregame | 329  
> o22 + oumota coping with abuse | 1,969  
> o23 + saimota salmon team library date [18+] | 4,557  
> o24 + momoharu postgame nightmares | 1,983  
> o25 + saioumota pwp threesome [18+] | 3,149  
> o26 + amamota kissing | 380  
> o27 + saimota domestic breakfast | 1,241  
> o28 + saimota pwp bad sex [18+] | 1,853  
> o29 + oumota pta au | 564  
> o30 + saimota pwp [18+] | 377  
> o31 + oumota ballet au | 825

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Poetic  
> spoilers: up to beginning of chapter 6
> 
> i wanted to start with something for momoharu week on twitter. day 1 is reincarnation (or pregame but i decided to do reincarnation).

A creeping sickness dips itself inside of his dreams, like black licorice braiding into bright red candy floss, choking him, shushing him mum and leaving him breathless in the morning-

dreams of blood and hands fastening his.

Enveloped in a heavenly glow, the most beguiling girl stood crooked before him, arms bent in as her slick fingers slip across her sleeves. Great big alkaline tears pave trails down to her trembling lips.

With every whisper of his name, guilt throbs out akin to an echo and bleeds into the radio silence. He can never make out her haunted cries. Always,

always, every night in his sleep he would revisit the scene, and like this he would wake with his own eyes a brimming cup, runneth over with the fear that he could not quell.

Sweat plasters his loose, dark hair to his ears and the back of his neck. The fan overhead swings anxiously, hanging precariously. It isn’t doing much to his fringe that frames his face flatly. The moment he lifts his palm up to shovel back his bangs, Kaito’s distressingly aware of how his clammy hands feel when sliding against his warm skin.

Slimy.

He shivers.

“Fuck,” he breathes more than he says.

Drawing in a quaky breath, Kaito’s eyes lock up in disgust, peeling the duvet from his sticky body.

Every night. Every night since he’s moved to Brave Heart Hall High School, he’s seen the girl in his nightmares.

The girl with the wine-dark eyes and the tremor in her lungs: her whole body rattles as though her bones are falling apart in her skin, in front of him.

Kaito fixes his mouth into a frown as he shuffles into the bathroom of his dorm room, his hand slapping the tile disconnectedly, fumbling for the light switch until it clicks under his fingertips. Cold air filters in through the vent in the ceiling. He bites his lip and gives the shower knobs a twist and a push this way and that.

Once he’s stood under the punishing comfort of the broiling hot water for ten minutes he can finally feel the blood discharge from under his fingernails. He can never see it enter the drain but the feeling of grime subsides. The taste of iron in his mouth is replaced with steam. Drowsy and sleep-sick, he laps at the shower water absent-mindedly until he can’t remember the metallic grit on his tongue anymore.

And now he can start to put his face on.

No star-spangled jacket and no lopsided orientation. There’s something uniquely wrong when he slips both sleeves of the jacket over his arms and sidles his soles into the black and red sneakers in his closet. They never slide on as easily as he thinks they should, and he’s left to stick his middle finger into the heel of his shoe and stretch it out as far as he can as he fits his foot inside.

Out the door, he marches down the hall and toward the double doors leading out. Across the street in the safety of a long tubular bridge that can see over the morning traffic, he journeys toward his eight am astronomy class.

It’s comfortably nestled on the complete opposite side of the campus, so it would help if he woke up early, but his body never seems to want to get up that quick. When left to his own devices, no matter how late he wants to sleep in, his body naturally jolts him up at eight. Always, always with a knife in the stomach.

That’s how it feels at least. There’s a primal fear about waking up at eight on the dot that has nothing to do with getting to his eight am class late. Forging ahead toward his first class always feels like a mission. His anxiety spreads as though something uniquely terrible will befall him and everyone he knows if he isn’t on time.

Too many times he’ll find himself walking into the cafeteria for no good reason. It’s like his brain rewired where he was going somewhere between his dorm room and room B-206. This morning is one of those days. Traipsing in with his book bag tight in his fist and hanging over his shoulder, the other fist pocketed and his body feeling… weird all over, he can’t help but think the room looks bigger than it should be. There’s too many tables. Too many people.

Students file in and out of the line with plates full of pancakes and he catches the glance of one student he’s never seen before.

Red, like the color of his shirt, the color of his blood, the blood that’s in his dreams every night is her eyes.

The rest of her is doused in navy blues. Her face, he could swear, was going purple.

“Huh?” he pauses, chewing on the noise as she shocks up from the bench.

Like she’s seen a ghost, she’s seen snatching her backpack up from the rectangular table and making a mad dash for the door.

Kaito doesn’t know why his legs cantered after her, or why his throat is sticking to itself with dryness and feels like he’s swallowed gravel.

“She’s fast,” he murmurs to himself for no reason in particular.

It almost sounds like… admiration?

When her head pivots over her shoulder to make sure she’s losing him, she finds him coming up close behind and shoving bystanders to the wayside as he careens in her direction. Startled at best, she throws her shoulder bag. Kaito catches it with an undignified yelp as it smashes into his face. He clings tightly.

“What is her deal!?”

Tucking it under his arm, he surveys the hall.

Footsteps echo softly but her feet are light and airy. She ran on the balls of her feet. No physical sign of her remains. Behind him, students yell and gripe, assembling their discarded books and pencils that Kaito had conked out of their hands in his bid to get by but before him, she slipped through and around the crowd without disturbing at all.

An empty feeling rose in his gut.

“No, I couldn’t have been imagining her right?” he asks, to himself clearly and not to anyone around him.

Squeezing the schoolbag under his arm he thinks, no, no, he couldn’t have been imagining this.

“Sh… she ran out toward the track field,” stammered a timid voice flanking him.

Kaito spun on his heels to find a shorter boy looking up. Half of his face was hidden from sight with a baseball cap. His frame was wiry and he was sure from the frown in his face that he’d been shaken up a tad. Peering down further, Kaito spots the backpack in disarray. Textbooks lay in a jumbled mess with their pages splayed wide and folding in on themselves. One pencil sat beneath Kaito’s foot. Clicking his tongue, he kneels down to help collect.

“Shit, I’m sorry about this, man.”

“Oh, n-no, you don’t have to help me,” he falters, quickly snatching each book and utensil out of Kaito’s hands the moment he plucks them up.

Blinking, Kaito purses his lips up against his top row of teeth in thought.

“It’s not a big deal, dude, it was my fau-”

The other boy’s hand brushes by Kaito’s as he fumbles for his last pencil. A sharp pain shoots through him, comparable to lightning and fire. And his face goes numb. And he remembers summer nights with their sticky clothes, clinging to sweaty bodies, their eyes glued to the stars. And he remembers promises made with hands slapping together, laughter filling their hearts, their eyes meeting each other’s.

Kaito crumbles to the ground, crab walking backward from the other boy until the lockers behind him make a noisy metallic rumble in his ears and he’s seeing stars all over the hallway ceiling.

He’s a million miles away in a prison, in a school- not this one, and everything around him is blurring and melting away except for Shuichi.

Ah,

that’s his name.

The name of his friend. How could he ever forget that? How could he-

“Momota-kun,” he speaks, confidence spilling over into his voice now as he holds his hat in his hands, crushing it under his fidgety fingers.

“Shuichi,” Kaito confirms unsteadily.

How do they know each other? When did they meet? Why do they know each other and why does Kaito’s heart beat faster? Why does he feel so much,

guilt,

cutting through him like blades in a paper shredder.

Suddenly he doesn’t think he can breathe anymore. There’s pulp in his lungs and it has a name that he still can’t find. It’s beyond his sight, through the hand that the boy is stretching out toward him and beyond the hallway they’re both standing in. It’s out in the field. It’s the pitch black angel hair curling around his heart and making him squirm.

Shuichi’s hand shivers in his grasp, and it’s familiar. It’s a strong grip. It’s drippy. It’s a little too tight and it’s teeming with conviction. But still, it’s quaking. Kaito’s is firm enough to steady his whole arm and he makes a slight smile.

“Don’t tell me seeing me has scared you,” Kaito roars expectantly, the anxiety in his system giving way to such elation.

Maybe the two of them are sharing a mutual hysteria, but Shuichi smiles like he’s just remembered it’s his birthday.

“Just surprised,” he corrects, but there’s more to it than that.

Shuichi’s eyes are noticeably wet. Kaito yanks himself up and sees the other boy wobble. Pushing his hair back and out of his eyes, Kaito puts all notions of personal space out the window as Shuichi squints back in return.

“Oi, oi,” he whispers almost more to himself than to the smaller boy. “What’s all this for?”

“I…,” Shuichi tries. “We were trapped in a prison.”

Kaito nods.

He doesn’t nod because he knows. He nods because he does not know, and he needs to. Everything that Shuichi imparts to him, he needs to know. Who were they? What happened? How do they know each other? Why does he feel… like this?

“You were my friend-”

“I am your friend!” Kaito corrects boisterously, making Shuichi flinch back.

“I don’t… remember _everything_ right now, but that’s not important! What’s important is that I remember you now,” he says. “I remember training with you and Harumaki, doin’ laps and doin’ push ups and-”

His heart suspends itself in mid-animation.

Harumaki.

Parking his arm around her and chuckling as she wrestled out of his grasp. Sometimes snatching his wrist sooner than he could even try, her fist rigid and then soft, ameliorating her touch as though she were melting.

Harumaki.

Teaching him how to interlock the various pieces of a crossbow together, pointing with her delicate hands- the hands that had been taught how to kill, and maim, and… the hands he had wanted to hold.

Teaching her how to interlock the various digits of hers with his.

Harumaki.

Out the door and toward the field.

“Momota-kun?” Shuichi whispers.

“I gotta find her.”

He abandons both his bag and hers.

Slamming his body into the double doors leading out into the track field, he shouts her name loud enough for the entire student body of Brave Heart Hall High to hear, but no one has an eight am phys. ed class. No one is practicing track & field at eight am. No one is out here. No Harumaki. Not even the squirrels concern themselves with his shouting.

Kaito cusses. It’s been too long. She’s probably left campus by now.

Still, he marches out into the center of the field. The blinding glare of the bright sun in his eyes frustrates him. Raising his flat hand to sit against his brow bone, he scans the field. He’s sweltering beneath his uniform.

“Fuck!” he cusses again.

As he keeps his eyes peeled for her he finds himself wandering toward the bleachers. He can’t go back inside now knowing that she escaped out this way. Somehow, giving up is no longer an option for him. The very second his hand makes contact with the bleachers however, he yanks it back with a hiss, cussing some more in pain. It’s piping hot from the sun’s grueling rays. Wrenching his jacket off, Kaito throws it to the ground behind the bleachers and squats down on it slow.

He crams his face into his hands and sighs, a bit of sense coming through to him now.

This is stupid, he thinks. This doesn’t make any sense? Why is he out here waiting for some girl who has made it very clear she doesn’t want to speak to him? Why does he persist?

The only thing that he can think of is how lonely she’d looked, and how he knows her name.

Harumaki doesn’t sound like a real name though. That’s a spring roll, after all. Biting his lip and letting his head hang low on his neck, he mulls it over.

In every dream he has, she’s crying. Every time he’s seen her, she’s upset with him, isn’t she? She’s covered in ichor and dripping tears that are bigger than her eyes allow for, crumbling over her chin and all over the front of her clothes and fingers as though she were trying to wash her hands with them.

Kaito’s jaw tightens.

Of course, she wouldn’t want to be around him. He’d done something truly despicable to her, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he wanted to clean her hands?

For the first time, he thinks maybe he's a bad person and he doesn't even know why.

Dissociation be damned, when he and his thoughts wash back up on shore, he feels the ice-cold sting of a blade on his nape and a familiar voice punctuating his awakening.

“Do you want to die?”

Eyes zeroing in on the gentle curl of his fingers, Kaito grimaces.

“If it’ll make you smile.”

Silence.

“If it’ll make up for it.”

No answer. Kaito tilts his head only for a foot to crack itself into the back of his skull. Well deserved, he thinks, only to feel lukewarm droplets of water on his neck now, replacing the blade. Her voice replaces the quiet.

“You idiot. You’re a fucking idiot.”

He wants to laugh. Something in him tells him this is the proper time. It surely is not.

“You’re right,” he admits. “You hate me. You hate me so much and I can’t even remember why.”

The disgruntled heaving and sounds of sniffling snatch his heart up and stick pins and needles into it. Kaito simpers, as if he’s somewhat proud at feeling this again.

Again.

Yes, he’s felt this before: smiling with a mouthful of blood, smiling with a blade at his neck, smiling as he lays pretty over a hundred miles in the air.

Smiling, as he lifts his hand to wipe his neck off and he spots her sneakers out of his peripherals, Kaito's free hand is messing up the front of his shirt with how hard he's tearing at it.

“I was some rotten bastard wasn’t I?”

More stillness unfolds. This time, less tense and more deserved.

“Dream me sure is a jackass-”

“Stop making jokes,” she interrupts, and his head hitches up so his eyes can meet hers.

In her palm is a knife. He notices it before her puffy eyes and jittering lungs. Kaito points and yells.

“Put that down!”

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Maki scolds, her grip stiffening before his hand clenches hers.

“You shouldn’t be holding it,” he nags in a voice softer than he was expecting from his own mouth, and Maki feels her head swim.

She drops the knife.

Holding in a breath, Maki glowers in pain.

“Why?” she asks, and Kaito makes a noise low in his throat as if he doesn’t understand what she’s asking. “Why shouldn't I?”

Kaito chews on his lip.

“Because y-”

“And don’t say it’s because I’m a woman,” she seethes.

Rewording the clumsy statement in his head, he finds what he means to say.

“Because you… were a child,” he corrects himself. “Are-... you are. We were- …”

Memories flood in akin to a leaky faucet- not all at once and never when you need it to. His eyes shut tight.

“You couldn’t be soft. You should have been allowed to be.”

Sooner, quicker- now comparable to a river, he knows.

He knows about the girl from the orphanage, who fought for the children who she could not connect with. Who laid with him and stared at the stars. Who called his name as he coughed blood into his hands, and took those hands, and crushed those hands, and bristled up resembling a hedgehog at the idea of losing those hands, and cried big salty tears when he pulled those hands away.

That girl in his dreams, every night for weeks.

That girl in his past, who knew him by soul and knew him by heart.

That girl.

Who did not give up. Who had not felt that way before. Who had never fought to protect someone before. Who had never been given a nickname like Harumaki before. Who had never met someone as stubborn as him before. Who had never fallen for someone before.

Who didn’t want this to end. 

“Momota,” she says, and the sound of it is like the shatter of glass in a church gathering; it’s like the pin drop of a bomb in a locked closet; it’s like a baseball bat to the back of his brain.

It hurts.

But unlike all of those things, it is necessary.

You can’t look a girl in the face and tell her you love her if you can’t take responsibility. That’s what he’d thought, or what he hopes he thought. It makes the most sense. If you’re a man, you take responsibility for your actions.

He couldn’t then.

He can now.

Seizing her body in his hands like he’d wanted, like he’d dreamt of, he ropes her in to his level and squashes her tight against his chest. Her body quivers, less analogous with a girl and more like a child, and it breaks his heart into too many pieces to count them all. Instead he counts her breaths and heartbeat. He counts the strings of hair he’s pulling from his mouth as he sighs out slow.

“Harumaki, I’m sorry for making you cry again.”

Her body founders, a sandcastle to his waves, sliding into his grasp and holding on for dear life. Maki’s cries turn frantic. She hastens her voice.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much- I can’t _stand_ how much I don’t hate you.”

He chuckles.

Finally, maybe this is the time where a little laughter makes sense. He doesn’t know. He’s shaking too.

“I couldn’t be honest,” he reveals.

Maki’s face is entombed in Kaito’s shoulder, drenched in the scent of his grape shampoo and recognizable sweat. She hiccups in affirmation. His hand rubbing up and down her back apologetically stops to cinch her side soundly.

“I fell for you too.”

It’s too much to take. She’s crumbling in his touch and he can’t think of more to say. He can’t recall every detail, every word. He can’t remember every smile they shared and every conversation that brought them together.

It’s enough now though, to know there’s something there.

It’s enough to touch skin on skin and feel physical and feel something bridging beyond what they can see in front of them, something too extravagant for them to put words to.

Perhaps it was all in another life.

It’s enough to know that there’s love here, that overcame such tragic despair.

It’s enough to fall in love, and to love someone, and to be loved no matter who you are or where you are, and to find the good in any situation.

It’s enough to find hope underneath the shade of the high school bleachers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im late and im half asleep on my medication zzzzz hopefully theres not too many typos or errors in this


	2. Momoharu | Violets for Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop  
> spoilers: none
> 
> day 2 of momoharu week (im late again hhhhh im so slow) and i picked flora, and decided... why not florist au?

It was raining like hell when he first strolled in. He’s got the type of swagger you’d sooner associate with a man in a music video- a paler Bruno Mars with not as much confidence. She can tell this because after he slaps a few thousand yen on the counter with the sort of enthusiasm you’d expect of a bachelor at a bar, his grin starts to crack once she asks, “What arrangement would you like?”

Who comes to a florist and doesn’t even know what they want?

Well, Maki thinks to herself, a lot of people actually. But usually they have the guts to swallow their pride and admit that they have no idea what they’re talking about. It’s been seventeen minutes now (judging by the minimalist clock in the corner, a humble square with two hands and no numbers) and she’s had the esteemed pleasure of listening to him blather on about wanting flowers that embody passion, like roses (close), ‘those speckled ones’ (not quite), and orange lilies (not at all).

“I’m cutting you off here,” the woman interrupts, noticing the man lower his gesticulating hands to his sides politely; he smiles with a childlike sincerity.

“Yeah? What’s up?” he asks.

Pointing a single finger in the direction of the roses, Maki starts.

“Roses stand for love, not passion,” she begins, and she watches as his big doe eyes trail away from her and back toward the red flowers, with a surprising level of intrigue.

She gestures toward the orange lilies with the dark spots sprinkling them.

“‘Those speckled ones,’ are tiger lilies, and they represent wealth, not passion either,” explains Maki. “And lastly-”

“Oh... damn you’re right,” he concedes with a frown, one hand to his furry chin. “I can’t have two different kinds of lily in the same bouquet, can I?”

Mouth agape, hoping that the pause she allows to stretch between them will accurately convey her annoyance at being interrupted, Maki tries again.

“No, that’s not the problem. If you want your bouquet to convey passion, you’re going to want different flowers for that. Orange lilies represent hatred.”

His face faults.

“Oooooohh,” the man winces.

“Yeeaah,” she goads, as if without the reinforcement he will lose the point again. “You don’t want whoever’s receiving this bouquet to think you hate them, do you?”

He’s rubbing his nape and avoiding eye contact now. Typical of any dude to come in here and think she doesn’t know how to do her job. He’ll probably wipe his yen off the counter and run across the street to the local supermarket to buy one of their pre-made bundles with no emotion behind it.

Not that she particularly would be sour if he did.

Dashing her expectations, he sprouted a thumbs up and pushed his weight to one hip.

“Nope! This isn’t really my area of expertise, so you’re going to help me out, Harumaki!”

His brevity was refreshing. It didn’t take very long to convince him that she knew a bit more than he did. It almost shocked her more than the little tacked on nickname did. In an ignorant display, Maki glanced down at her name tag as if to check if it had that adorkable name emblazoned on it. Firing her eyes back up to the six foot stranger, eyes more honest and inviting than she’d like, the dopiest grin drew her in.

“Haru… maki?” she parrots.

“Mm,” he nods. “Your name’s Harukawa Maki. The first part’s-”

“I know how you got it,” she expresses flatly, marveling at how simply he simpers at her ruthless deflection.

“Good! Was worried I looked a little crazy there, callin’ you a spring roll.”

Chuckling to himself he resembles that kid at the back of the class, blowing spitballs and asking the teacher ignorant questions just to test her patience. Maki squints, thinking that no, she thinks he’s a little crazy for completely different reasons, and eyes his clothes for a hint at his character.

What a lovely jacket he sports, considering he doesn’t know how to wear it properly. Halfway hanging off of his right shoulder she’s concerned a sprightly breeze could toss it’s beauty into the puddles outside. Galactic patterns paint its insides and reflect back an aurora borealis of colors; mostly violet and teal splash into the silky smooth design.

Unaware of the silence between them, Maki comes back to her thoughts as the man ducks his head down to meet the downward glance of her eyes.

“Lookin’ for _my_ name tag?” he queries.

Flummoxed by the sudden proximity, Maki steps back but not before he can laugh a hearty laugh- a loud one that makes her heart bounce and ignites the air around her.

“Name’s Momota Kaito! If you wanted to know, you could’ve just asked,” he bellows.

There’s a certain level of disillusionment she thinks this man has _got_ to possess to be this woefully self-important, but she almost doesn’t want to point it out in fear of shattering his world. It’d be far too easy to note that she’d had no interest in his name whatsoever, but being on the clock means putting in at least a barebones effort into being kind to customers… however theatrical they may be.

Maki stares evenly, rolling up the black sleeves of her uniform.

“Momota.”

“You got it,” she hears him say, finger gunning her down.

“What kind of passion are we talking about here? Is it… passion for a person? For a hobby? A career?”

Kaito shakes his head super hard.

“Nothing like that! I’m talking about _passion!_ ”

The quake of his voice betrays the obvious stupidity of his words.

“Do you think repeating the same thing with more emphasis will explain what you mean?” she drones.

He’s got one fist in the air while the other fastens to his hip. She thinks he’d make a good spokesperson or a poster boy for a positivity campaign. He’s got that type of rhythm in his posturing.

“I’m talking about adventure, sacrifice, blood, tears, love, joy, dreams, hard work and good food! I’m talking about everything life has to offer! Hot-blooded and courageous! The feeling of never giving up and of shooting for the moon!”

Kaito aims his finger at her chest.

“You think you can do that, Harumaki?”

“No."

“Hmph, that’s a shame. That just goes to show that you haven’t experienced true passion before,” he suggests, both of his hands pocketing themselves as he leans back on his heels; Maki can’t help but think he looks like a good time, albeit completely insane.

“And what _is_ true passion?”

His eyes light up like Christmas lights.

“Don’t make me sorry for asking,” she warns.

“I won’t, I won’t!” Kaito insists before chewing on his lip, staring at the wall. “First, let me get this flower order out of the way. I gotta get this to somebody soon.”

Maki sighs, scooping her plain white apron up from it’s slouched seat around her waist. It’s tied around her waist but until now, she hadn’t laced it around her neck like it should be. Pulling the strings taut, she gestures behind her, flipping one of her ponytails over her bony shoulder.

“Let’s try this again then. What kind of flowers do you want?”

She thinks she catches Kaito staring off into space momentarily, suspiciously at the corner of her shoulder where her smock meets with her neck. Diverting his attention onto her once more, Maki detects a vulnerability in his smile. Crossing his arms tight, his eyes mingle with the tile beneath his feet before he gazes up slowly. His mouth is a line.

“Say, you got anything for… askin’ a girl out on a date?” he asks.

“That depends on what the girl likes,” Maki answers. “Simple flower language won’t help you if she thinks roses are cheesy, or if she doesn’t like certain colors.”

While she says this, she’s spreading her hands along the underbelly of the freesias, as if fluffing them up.

“Where’d you get those?” Kaito asks.

Regarding him blandly, her voice comes out humdrum and banausic.

“Off the truck every morning. Do you think I go out and pick every flower I sell here?”

“No, Harumaki… your arms,” he presses, and Maki glooms in return, making no efforts to cover up or hide them now.

“Are they distracting?” she wonders, voice drippy with hurt.

Kaito catches on quick.

“No, I just… Sorry. That was thoughtless.”

“It was,” she affirms almost apologetically, if you can believe that.

She doesn’t enjoy being sensitive about her scars but the least strangers could do is not prompt her over them. It isn’t very polite. Heeding the growing lull between them, Maki lends her quick wrist to the baby pink peonys in the corner of the room and holds a single one out between her index and forefinger.

“Peonys are for bravery.”

Kaito makes a noise of befuddled acknowledgement.

“You’re asking a girl out. Bravery is necessary and pink is a good color. Most girls like it,” she says unsure.

“Do you like it?” he canvasses, rending a defeated lock of her eyebrows.

“Most do.”

“But you don’t,” he challenges.

Maki scowls down at the pastel petals in her fist, tearing them apart with her eyes alone as if to ask, _what’s so great about the color pink?_ There’s an inscrutable innocence about that color that’s always felt off limits to her. But pink isn’t only the color of petals. It’s the color her skin turns when it scars. All along her milk-white porcelain skin, pink is only in her upraised tissue.

Turning the flowers over in her grasp, the damp stems nearly slipping out of her sleek grip, she chews on her cheek mindfully.

“Not particularly,” she finishes.

“Leave ‘em out then.”

He waves his hand dismissivelike and scratches at the side of his face. His mouth is a worrisome smile.

“She’s not too girly, ‘prolly wouldn’t like ‘em neither.”

In a clockwork fashion, Maki replaces the peonys and reaches for the next flower her brain picks for her- 

“Violets,” she introduces.

Raising his hand up to his chin, Kaito levels an unconvincing stare.

“Why them?”

She jostles them back and forth in her palm, tickling the tip of his nose. He swats more gently than she thought he was capable of.

“They represent honesty. They aren’t too flashy or feminine either.”

Kaito gesticulates quizzically with a brief, “Why honesty?”

“You said she’s not very girly,” Maki explains, beholding the violets with a tender sort of touch more befitting of a mother; she lifts her fingers, gingerly smoothing the petals out like running her hands through her child’s hair. “She probably isn’t swayed by things like ideals of true love or passion. What she wants is to know that you’re being honest with her, not playing with her feelings or trying to use her.”

Hands resting atop the counter now, Kaito looks contemplative and whist. When Maki realizes she’s been gazing down at the plants and not at the customer, she finds his eyes resting on hers-

the same violet as she’s holding in her hands,

the same honesty as she’s holding in her hands,

and she narrows her vision, throwing her eyes to the minimalist clock.

“That fine?” Maki questions, her voice more hushed than it’d been minutes prior.

“Yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” he says. “You sound like you know a lot more than I do about what she’d like. I’m no good at getting into the heads of… pretty people- girls- you know.”

“Shockingly open, I see,” she contends.

Laughing a tad forcefully, Kaito flattens his sleeveless arm against the counter. Every time Kaito laughs, his eyes shut so tight. It’s such an earnest display, the fan of his eyelashes laid across his tanned skin. It’s unafraid when his voice had sounded so unsure. It’s undisguised, something she, on some level, wishes she could be.

She’s not really a florist. But for now she can be.

“Hey, I know lots about other things! I’ve traveled the seas and seen kings and queens. What’s one more mystery for me to solve?”

“Hmmmm,” she hums aloud, twisting on her heels away from him.

“Whats up?”

“Just thinking,” Maki says. “If you really want my advice… violets, with some white anemones for sincerity, and lavender for faithfulness.”

Collecting three of each and bundling them in her fingers, the damp stems pressing their patterns into her hands, she brandishes the bouquet much to Kaito’s amazement. He gives each flower the once over and snaps his fingers.

“Perfect! Harumaki, you’re a natural at this! You can really get the feeling of someone earnestly asking for their hand to dance.”

Maki swings her head around to try and gaze down at the flowers from his point of view. Dancing doesn’t necessarily come to _her_ mind but, it’s forthright alright. It’s soft purples and soft whites, just like the grinning dofus standing here. Clicking her pen with her free hand and sliding it across the counter with a dull scrape, Maki points with the stems at a small gift tag she’d left there for him.

“I’m going to prepare these for you and wrap them up neat. Write down whatever message you’d like her to receive with her bouquet on that card there and I’ll tie it on after.”

Leaving that guy to his own devices wasn’t such a good idea. In no time at all he would be completely embarrassing himself.

Maki strings up the stems and bundles them up, swaddling their beauty in a plastic wrap and dipping her nose in to breathe in its aromatic scent. Lavender and anemone went especially well together. Almost ambrosial.

She spins back around, ambling back up to the empty front counter in a stunned silence.

“Momota?” she beckons.

She eyes the gift tag.

_To Harumaki, you’re really kinda cute! I wanna show you true passion! Call me some time? (or else I’ll have to visit again!)_

Squinting slow, Maki scrutinizes the yen he left behind- just enough to cover the bouquet. She rolls her eyes, huffing with a marked stain across her cheeks. Guess she’d be seeing a lot more of him soon.

He forgot to leave his number.

The flowers he left though were nice.


	3. Saimota | Women's Underwear [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Lingerie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot  
> spoilers: none
> 
> in the chapter 2 trial, kaito says "That could've been anyone walking around in women's underwear! Even me!" and so far no ones... written him in womens underwear??? do i gotta do everything??
> 
> this is a tiny pwp, 18+
> 
> ftr any r-18 i write will only be with characters that are at least 18 yrs old so dont request i write stuff with charas younger than that pls im not comfortable w/ it.. im assuming the ndrv3 cast is the same age as the dr1 and sdr2 casts.

He drops his body back down, grinding slow, nudging that dick nestled between his cheeks closer and closer to where he wants it to be- where his _boyfriend_ wants it to be. Kaito’s breath hooks in his throat. Wincing, he cants his pelvis up into Shuichi’s teasing- the warmth he’s praying will swallow him.

“Shit,” he cusses brokenly. “Y-you’re really going to make me beg.”

“You look good like this, Momota-kun,” Shuichi breathes, one hand rested on his silken chest, the other palming the cock at his backside, stroking it tauntingly.

“Nnghyeah?” Kaito coughs out in one sound, victim to the slick hand, soft skin, maddening press of his pucker against him.

“Yeah.”

Shuichi’s affirmation comes out with such honesty, effortlessly. Once his voice dips low and his eyes span Kaito’s body, like he likes what he sees, like he's _hungry-_

Shivering beneath his touch, Kaito sucks his bottom lip in to bite down upon as Shuichi twists up a nipple through the lace of his bra.

Every jostle of his body reminds him of the tight violet panties squeezing his hips tight, and the lines they're pressing into the side of his cock and balls. The floral patterns are pretty. The way Shuichi’s tracing the waistband, tugging it tight only to let it snap back onto the underside of his cock, Kaito’s brain goes dizzy with delirium. He gives a yank at his binds, wrists burning with no cigar.

Kaito shudders and turns his face away and into his arm. His belly bounces with an unspoken gasp.

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am,” Shuichi says, a bemused smile playing across his lips before he plants a kiss at Kaito’s ear. “And I’m enjoying it a lot.”

Poking the head just barely inside, just barely enough for Kaito to think he’s in paradise, Shuichi purrs softly and it blows his lover’s mind.

“ _Fuck-_ Shuichi. I want it. I want it so bad,” he breaks.

“Want what?”

Kaito moans, frustrated and desperate as Shuichi pumps his dick right.

“You. I want all of you. I want to _fuck_ you,” Kaito pleads, toes curling up once Shuichi’s lining himself up, crooning high in reply, as if he’d been waiting so long for him to give in.

And Shuichi’s insides are every bit as hot and lubed as he needed them to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted it to be longer but zzzzz


	4. Momoharu | Into Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Coming Out, Open Relationships  
> spoilers: none
> 
> one of my friends, the maki to my kaito really really likes tenko. and likes tenko/maki. i plan on writing some tenko/maki soon but decided to start with this.
> 
> her and kaito and shuichi are in this weird open poly thing. its good.
> 
> this is also a very small shitty little... drabble. bear with me when i only have tiny things to post!!!

Maki’s mouth fumbles, her lips sliding away from his and against his chin- contemplative.

He might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he can tell when she’s subtly dancing away from him. Kissing warmly up her neck instead, he hums low in his throat.

Something’s up, but before he can ask-

“Chabashira asked me out,” she confesses, breathlessly, like it’s a part of the foreplay.

Kaito blinks, regarding her with a scientific gaze before he sits up on his elbow beside her.

“God, is that what _I_ sound like?”

The unspoken answer is yes- every single time he starts talking about Shuichi in the middle of sex. 

“I figured I had to say it eventually,” Maki continues, carefully taking note of the way Kaito bites his lip and scratches the back of his head, less like someone qualified to give advice and more like a horny caveman. 

“Well, how are you gonna break it to her?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“What?” 

“How am I going to _break it to her?”_ Maki parrots. 

“Yeah I mean… you… aren't into girls, are you?” Kaito postures. 

“I-” 

Maki is beyond bewildered. She is an entire wilderness of bewildered: a bewilderness. 

“Do you want to die?” 

“H-harumaki?” he winces, lifting his hands off of her. 

“Momota, I’m… I’m into girls,” she spits, less like she’s coming out of the closet and more like she’s kicking the entire closet door down in his face. 

“O-” 

“Like, I’m so into girls I’m pretty sure you are the only man who ever has, or ever will, see me naked and live to tell about it. Unless I kill you right here and right now.” 

Kaito’s nodding his head hard and fast enough to give himself multiple concussions. 

“Yep, understood! I knew that of course! Nothing gets past the luminary of the stars! I was just checking to see if you, my closeted sidekick knew that.” 

He gives a thumbs up, confidence bubbling out of his smile. 

A pause stretches on between them. 

Maki chews on the inside of her cheek a bit, pouting with thought and then- 

“She seems very earnest about it.” 

Face softening with understanding, Kaito reaches out for her wrist and snatches it slow, remembering how long it took to be able to do things like that without her chopping him in the jaw. She still flinches a bit. It makes him frown. 

“Well, don’t you think you should try then? A date couldn't hurt. Where’s she wanna go, the movies? To dinner?” 

Keeping her attention diverted off of him, she talks to the nightstand. 

“She wants to watch some movies at her house.” 

A few droplets of pink color Kaito’s face now. He gives a small simper as he delivers a gentle elbow. 

“Get in there, damn!” 

“What?” Maki barks back quizzically, not enjoying it when he gets all enthusiastic over things she doesn't understand. 

“No one _only_ goes to someone’s house _alone_ for a date and doesn't-” 

“Do you want to die?” 

Chuckling, Kaito pats her stomach apologetically. 

“Not yet at least.” 


	5. Momoharu | A Bottle for Your Thoughts, and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Holding Hands, Kissing  
> spoilers: up through chapter 4 daily life
> 
> fun fact: momoharu isnt even my otp, i'm just finding it very easy to write for them lately? i mostly see them as very good, soulmates, meant to be in each others lives whether platonic or romantic but, writing for them is so easy and theraputic. i just want all these ndrv3 kids to be happy man.
> 
> anyways, the first line came to me like a dream and the rest just happened.
> 
> they're using the home planet gift in kaito's room. it's both kaito and maki's favorite gift.
> 
> pov is weirdly omniscient, gives insight into what they're both feeling at various times.

Eventually, resting her weary eyes on Kaito’s shoulders and off of the light play of stars circulating the room, she unfolds- gently.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “None of that taught me anything.”

Kaito quirks an eyebrow, not necessarily at the prospect of him misunderstanding but, at the amount of conviction in her voice. Maki Harukawa carries herself less like a person and more like a home for ghosts. She never speaks with uncertainty but seldom does he find himself thinking she’s really coming from the heart. It’s always so closed off.

She speaks in threats, bullets and knives, but never in a way that feels learned or well earned. Just hostile. Just deflection. Just a door in the face.

For once, she sounds like she’s thought about what she’s saying, and not being contrary for contrary’s sake… and he’s never saw her as anything but a girl fitting poorly in her own skin but he feels afraid, for once, when his eyes meet the dark in her cherry-red’s. Not of her, of course, but of the way his heart wrenches and his careless smile splinters.

“What’s that mean?” he asks, betraying the tension in the air.

Maki chews her thoughts. Knitting her beleaguered brows together with frustration, she wonders how exactly she could possibly impart her feelings to some guy like this. Of all the people to let in, to be vulnerable for, this clown? This idiot?

For all the insults she’s slugging him with in her head, all he offers is the same open ended stare. His silhouette against a backdrop of stars is mesmerizing, she thinks. It’s when he’s finally quiet that she feels the weight of his presence. Always so boisterous, thunderous- when Kaito’s staring soft and steady with his mouth a gently crooked line, it feels like the entire world and all of it’s stars, all the galaxies in the cosmos have stopped in place and are listening too.

Looking him in the eyes is hard. She places her hand down on the Home Planet between them holding her palm down onto the top of the planetarium, sending them both into pitch darkness.

“None of that pain helped me, Momota,” she asserts. “To tell myself that I’m better for having experienced it is wrong- that I’m stronger now because of it, is wrong. That’s all the men that were forcing me into my line of work ever told me.”

She can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that’s good. It’s hard for her to read people’s faces and tell what’s on their mind and she’s never been decent at it. She’d rather not know.

Kaito had reached for her hand initially when she’d turned the stars off, but now his own hovers dangerously above, as if afraid his contact will hurt her. Gulping down his feelings slow, he holds back from speaking until he thinks she’s completely done. Turns out it’s harder than he thinks to tell because her breaks in between get longer and longer.

“It’s a nice thought for some people, to think that the struggles they go through make them better people or make them stronger but I was told that so much. Eventually, after they tell you for the umpteenth time that it’s necessary for you to go through this, you start to wonder why. What does the rest of the world require from me that this is preparation?”

Maki doesn’t cry very easily, even when talking about things that ferociously wound her. It comes with the territory. Her voice might shiver but it’s more out of rage than anything. If being _here_ has taught her anything, it’s that there’s a greater gap than she once thought between her and the rest of the kids her age. It’s something she’s always known, but she’s never been forced to get on with them all the same.

Taking in a deep breath, she sighs out her bloodlust and picks up again, but when she does, hardly a syllable falls out before Kaito’s hand falls down on hers.

It’s warm, almost uncomfortably so. The room isn’t terribly warm but… his hand on hers is scary. It feels like a trap, like she’s been caught in a cage. Instinct screams at her to tear it away. It’s too easy for him now to take her wrist, break it, bend it behind her back- 

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Kaito assures.

She recalls that he’d never do any of those things.

There’s a gap, where he plucks her hand up from the planetarium and faint magic threads of light sparkle up between their fingers. She thinks he’s… embarrassed? He stares down at the floor bashfully before frowning toward the wall.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken about things I know nothin’ about.”

Maki blinks, marveling at the way the light shifts as she starts to squeeze his hand, their fingers mingling a bit before finding where they fit proper.

“I forgive you.”

Much to her amazement, Kaito doesn’t make a big deal out of their hand holding. In the back of her mind she was expecting him to make shit weird but he seems more preoccupied with… whatever’s going on in his own head right now.

“I’m no good at this,” he concedes. “I thought that my little pep talks were helpful. I guess sometimes even I gotta admit that you can’t solve everyone’s problems.”

“You do your best,” Maki maintains.

In the depths of his chest, Kaito feels his heart sink.

No good at investigations. No good at trials. No good at doing much but inspiring the ones who really have talent. What he’s suited for is something out of this world, something out of reach. It feels as though it always will be, and he’ll always have an excuse for his shortcomings in this way.

For once, he felt that maybe he’d found the one thing he could do right. No one could cheer on his sidekicks like he could. Kaito Momota, who’d always knew what to say… came to the realization many times that sometimes he really _didn’t_ say the right thing, but… this time it felt worse.

It’s so much different when you’re trying to cheer up someone who’d gone through something so… traumatic. He’d no experience with something so tragic.

He couldn’t afford to get something like this wrong. He c-

“You’re doing that thing again,” she chides.

Kaito snaps back to the present and finds her leaning in close to him.

“Wh-w… Huh? What am I doin’?”

“You’re holding stuff in,” Maki says with a prodding gaze. “When you get deep in thought and won’t say what you’re thinking…”

Maki tucks a sliver of hair behind her ear and glances away.

“You’re always so talkative and spill every little thought in your head. It’s obvious when you aren’t telling me something.”

Chuckling guiltily, Kaito squeezes her hand.

“Sorry about that! You don’t have to worry about it. I didn’t mean to get all melancholy on ya. I’ll try to not let that happen again.”

“No.”

Tugging his hand toward her, yanking his attention, Maki scowls.

“That’s _not_ what I’m talking about. Say what you’re feeling.”

His stare blank and plain, Kaito stammers a bit over his words.

“H-harumaki… it’s not a big deal. I’m just, more of a thoughtful guy than people think maybe?”

“No,” she mutters defiantly. “Why do I have to talk about my feelings but you don’t?”

Ouch.

“If you want to help me, don’t you think I’d feel more comfortable opening up if you did? If you were open too?”

Every word that comes out of her mouth hurts- less like a knife, or a gun, and more like a kick to a pair of ribs that were bruised to begin with; it’s more like salt in a wound that he’d already been ignoring and letting fester for god knows how long.

Noticing the way his jaw locks up and his eyes float down, Maki searches for the type of thing he’d say. It’s not easy, but he’s said enough bullshit that she’s got her own little bank to choose from.

“If you’re so damn worried about saying the wrong thing, think of it this way. If you’re speaking from your heart, it can’t be wrong.”

That sounds a bit too vague and too mushy, she thinks immediately.

“You can’t be wrong when you’re talking about your own feelings, Momota,” she refines.

But _now_ it sounds like she’s just letting him off the hook.

“Just- don’t go around always telling other people how to fix their problems if you aren’t interested in getting help for your own,” she asserts.

Perfect, she thinks for once about anything she’s said to another human being. She’d like to think that each little section has a piece of the three of them in it. The way Kaito smiles with a grim sort of sadness does a funny thing in her chest, but she’s better for it, she thinks. He’s looking at her like she’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

“You’re right,” he replies. “Especially if that’s what you need from me.”

“Idiot,” she growls, resting both his hand and hers back down on the planetarium, the warm of the light beneath tickling their palms. “It’s what you need from yourself.”

In the sudden dark, she sends a hand to his collar and tugs it in sharp. She’s lucky, oh so lucky that this stupid kiss lands squarely on his chin. It’s a small millisecond adjustment, and Kaito hardly gives much thought before lending her his lips. It’s not nearly as stiff and awkward as she’d thought it would be, though that’s mainly a product of her own perceived ineptitude.

Resting back on her ankles sat under her, she lets go of his hand. Stars splash freely all over the room once more. Maki’s face is tame, impassive.

That felt good to do, she thinks. She’s only ever kissed one other person: the girl from her orphanage. She’d stared back blankly like a doe in the headlights of a vehicle, face a pleasant pink with her hand lifting up to check if her lips were still on her face.

Maki didn’t know if she’d made the right decision, but judging by the way Kaito’s gazing back at her, dazed and dizzy, face hot like a furnace with his fingers situated at the corner of his mouth, she thinks… this feels just as right as it did then.

Pouting, she adjusts the bow hanging from her seifuku.

“Got it?”

Registering it all, he starts to giggle almost uncharacteristically soft. It blends into his usual hearty laugh though, and he pats his hands down onto his knees. The smile starts in his eyes and spreads through his whole body, like a shock wave.

Like she was capable of making another human being happy.

“Leave it to me, Harumaki. I definitely won’t let you down again.”


	6. Oumota | Save Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: none  
> spoilers: up through end of chapter 5 trial
> 
> idk i liked the vision in my head of ouma giving the antidote Like This. also i know this is just a one-shot but in this fic i imagine he and kaito have messed a bit. so the kiss isnt brand new. just, at a time when kaito is kinda. understandably pissed and does not want to kiss him lol.
> 
> and does not want to do what has to be done either.

Two boys lie in a hangar.

Kaito bears witness as Maki peels off the window and toward the control box to the hangar, soon squinting toward the one remaining bastard left on this planet.

Figures, huh? The entire human race has been wiped out and here he’s stuck with the anti-christ. Just humanity’s luck that he’d survive. His shit eating grin’s got a hint of agony in it when he falls to one knee. The antidote sloshes in it’s glass bottle.

It sloshes, and it catches Kaito’s eye. Pursing his lips and pointing, he shouts.

“You didn’t even fucking drink it… y-you shitty liar.”

He’s got one eye open and the other one twitching, his fingers kneading the front of his chest through his shirt like all the bravado’s been knocked out of him. Kaito has to wonder, was all of that an act until Maki left? He manages to push himself up onto his haunches to make a dive for the little guy but Kokichi deftly dodges to the left, some of the antidote spilling over the top and meeting with the floor. The splat is loud. Kokichi grunts in what Kaito thinks is anger for a second, a slip of the mask before he’s back to smirking all ugly and proud.

“Hey, you might not wanna knock this out of my hand, Momota-chan, if you don’t want your little girlfriend to be the culprit that is,” he offers, venomously- the jealousy evident in his lilt every time the world _girlfriend_ falls out of his mouth.

Chest burning up like he’s got a fire in his lungs, Kaito keeps one hand poised over his mouth. The flame licks at the back of his throat. It tastes like metal and he collapses back onto one arm. His vision blurs and he sees two Kokichi’s looking back at him, and he’s not sure if either is telling the truth.

“You… didn’t even-”

“It was a lie!” exclaims Kokichi. “Not the last though. You’re… You’re going to help me with that.”

Kokichi grimaces through his sentence, shivering with black inky death flowing through his veins. It aches slow, like a mamba through all of his nerves and makes it hard to breathe. They’re both at the mercy, Kaito twofold, at the mercy of his own illness on top of this mess. But he can’t die- not yet. He doesn’t know it but Kokichi has a plan for him all his own.

Curling his finger in a heinous come-hither, he laughs.

“Don’t you want to know what my plan is, Momota-chan? It can save you. It can save your _girlfriend._ It can save everyone, Saihara-chan too. You know neither of us want _him_ to die.”

“I don’t want any part of what you’ve got going on!” Kaito roars, as powerfully as he can when his lungs feel like they’re collapsing.

Two boys lie in a hangar and one of them is losing his patience. For as much as he’d like to toy around with Kaito, he doesn’t want to die before he can even explain what to do to the idiot. His face defaults to his blank, pensive stare. He slams the reset button on his emotions and takes a great big swig of the antidote in his hands. Kaito winces, his hands struggling for purchase against the cold floor in a bid to get up.

Kokichi drops the bottle and is on him in an instant. Their lips meet like a rock and a hard place- tight-lipped and dispassionate. Gripping Kaito’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks in with anger, the astronaut gives. His mouth opens to protest when the antidote comes spilling into his mouth, sweet and syrupy.

He swallows it down.

The supreme leader flops back on his ass, wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and offers his lover a laugh that the other is choking back up.

Kaito fumbles for words, blinking back the watering in the corners of his eyes and the medicinal taste of manufactured cherry in his mouth.

“Don’t throw it up now,” Kokichi coos before his smile wanes, his eyebrows curling up tight. “If we both die, this will all be for nothing.”

This earns Kokichi a practiced stare. Kaito’s bleary eyes focus on his pained expression as he sits up straight.

“What are you trying to do?”

“Save everyone,” Kokichi says.

Save everyone, Kokichi lies, maybe?

Save everyone, Kokichi admits, probably.

Save everyone, Kokichi wishes, and despite this admission, Kaito is scowling and crawling toward him.

“How’s giving me the antidote going to do that?”

The liar smiles coldly, blood on his teeth. It’s Kaito’s blood.

“You’re going to kill me.”

The pain that pumps through Kaito’s heart isn’t an unnameable illness. It’s name is Ouma Kokichi.

Two boys lie in a hangar, and for all the hatred one of them's felt, he can do nothing but sneer and make a sad face.

“Don’t make me do that to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna see more stuff with kaito's guilt regarding having to kill him. i dont think for a second he felt nothing over doing it.


	7. Saimota | Post-Training Haze [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Shower Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Frottage, Gay Awakening  
> spoilers: none
> 
> okay i told myself i was going to write some fluffy saimota next but i Really liked the anonymous request i got and decided to fill it instead. i hope you like it! i actually got super carried away with this one. it was supposed to be a simple pwp but i ended up going overboard eheh.
> 
> request prompt: "Can you do r18 saimota like after a training session they're both sweaty and heavily panting and so they take a shower together and you can take it from here ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)"

Kaito remembers being twelve years old and scraping his knees on the pavement. His best friend knocked his head off and they both tumbled into the concrete and rolled into the grass- angry, whiny, and prepubescent. He’d never been in a fight before with another kid that didn’t get broken up instantly. It was exciting. He wasn’t enraged so much as he was enthralled. Invigorating and powerful. He felt powerful. That’s why when they were both bloodied and tired, staring back at one another like two kids who’d eaten too much cake, who’d been left to their own devices, who couldn’t remember why they’d argued, he laughed.

That’s when he first noticed he liked to push his body to its limits. It’s also the first time he noticed his heart beating faster when another boy had shoved him into the dirt.

It wouldn’t be the last time his mother scolded him for getting grass stains in his shorts.

He’s got a fiery temper. He did then, but he does now too. Physical activity does it for him.

What were once holes in the drywall of his basement are now footprints in the track field by his house. Even before Kaito decided to become serious about his life on Mars, he needed to get up and at ‘em every day. It helped. When his headphones and a good smoke didn’t help, getting tired helped. So tired he couldn’t be furious anymore. So tired he couldn’t worry anymore. So tired he could fall asleep happily in the sod surrounding the track, counting the stars overhead and thinking of how different they’d look when he’s among them.

More than once he got the cops called on him for that, if not only for trespassing but for scaring his baa-chan half to death.

It was routine.

Here though, he feels he’s watching his training slip away from him, and his anxiety climbs like a stairway to someplace awful, someplace dark and uninviting.

Kaito’s lies about a lot of things but true as truth he invites Shuichi to train with him to help _him_. There was no mistaking the other truth though, that he desperately believes he can’t cope with the circumstances unless he gets moving, gets his heart racing again. He wants the dizzying high of lightheadedness after a sprint, the exhaustion and the sweat, and the blank mind that thinks of nothing else. On more than one occasion though he lays back on the turf and stargazes, thinking that maybe it’s the effort that counts, and the company.

Not being alone in this situation is definitely best.. His sidekick by his side is a balm. He calms him down like nobody and nothing else.

Some days, he’s distracted though. Kaito being distracted is Kaito putting more effort into his training than usual, which feels like the opposite of what it would be for the average guy. He pays no mind to rooting his sidekick on and instead has his eyes closed, hands forming some kind of triangle shape on the sidewalk as he pushes himself up and down. Oblivious to the eyes on him, he sucks in breath after breath and feels his arms shiver, enjoying the strain and the cold sort of prickling that tickles his muscles as he works his arms to the bone. They’re both silent the entire time.

He reaches his fifty and does five more after. Holding himself up with wobbling arms, Kaito’s head hangs lifelessly. His lungs burn, but it feels good. His brain feels utterly blank. Catching his breath, the voice beside him speaks up, dripping with concern.

“Momota-kun?”

“Nngh?”

Kaito more or less makes a grunt that sounds like a question, in the way that his voice tilts up at the end before he flops onto his side and adjusts to sitting on his ass. Each arm drops like an anvil onto his upraised knees. Sweat has made his clothes stick to every part of his body. He’s not privy to the way Shuichi is staring. He’s letting his head swim a bit with that pleasant lightheadedness, somewhere far away and not near here.

Shuichi’s voice sounds softer than he remembers.

“You seem... different than usual. You’re quieter, and you seem distracted,” Shuichi levels with him in between gasps of his own breath.

The astronaut knows he doesn’t mean it, but Shuichi has a way of making everything he says sound like an interrogation sometimes. Pushing his hand back through his hair, the sweat eroding the gel and his hair going slack in his hands, Kaito’s pants slow down and he frowns inwardly.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Not been feeling well lately. Just gotta push myself extra hard on those days.”

It’s easier to say he’s feeling physically under the weather than mentally under the weather.

“I see,” Shuichi says, and Kaito knows he doesn’t believe him.

Forcing a chuckle, Kaito pinches the front of his shirt and tugs it back and forth, fanning some air against his sticky chest.

“Is my sidekick worried about me? I really gotta get it together if I’m making you think about me so much.”

“Ah… it’s alright,” Shuichi mutters with a cadence that registers as meek to Kaito’s brain, and he looks up to find the other boy sat across from him, dodging eye contact.

His chest is bounding up and down with his breaths. A single droplet of sweat lingers at the corner of his jaw, slotted into the tender spot where it meets with his neck, an inch below the ear, and it travels down into his unbuttoned shirt.

Kaito blinks. He’s staring. He’s just realized he’s staring at his sidekick, face flush and wistful. Clearing his throat, Kaito pulls each pant leg down from where they’ve been bunching up and crosses his legs.

“You think we’re all done for the night?” he asks.

Shuichi turns back toward him, his stare a flustered variety of pensive as he stammers.

“Y-yeah,” he says through exhales.

“Yeah,” Kaito echoes, as if he’s trying to tell himself something.

Shuichi is the first to stand up, as if he’s trying to get away as quickly as he can. Despite that venture, he still has the politeness Kaito’s grown to associate with him and he’s holding his palm out to Kaito. His bony wrist is slick, shines under the moonlight. Sweat glistens up to his rolled up sleeves. The fabric has turned transparent. Kaito swallows hard.

“M’good,” he insists, brushing Shuichi’s hand dismissively in a gesture that comes across colder than he means it to.

Once they’re both upright, Kaito takes notice to Shuichi’s posture, milquetoast and spiritless. His neck’s been gobbled up by his shoulders and he knows the pose- Shuichi’s made it before and always, always he kept his hand glued to his hat. Now that he’s not wearing it, both hands are fastened tight to his pockets. His eyes are making love to the dormitories nearby, and Kaito’s soon snatching up the corner of his elbow, fingers pinching up a square of the fabric and giving the most mild tug.

“Say, you seem distracted too.”

“Ah?” Shuichi beckons back, in more of a strange, surprised noise than actual speech.

Pursing his lips in a sort of contemplative pout as he does sometimes, Kaito pockets his free hand.

“Come on,” he says, and without further elucidation begins to drag the two of them off toward the dormitories.

The detective’s tripping over his own feet, victim to his friend’s tugging as he makes a gentle whine.

“M-momota-kun?”

He doesn’t walk Shuichi to his room but instead hauls him up the stairs and to his own room, first on the right. Fishing his key out of his pocket, Kaito’s grip on Shuichi’s shirt has gone lax. Instead his fingers have coiled slow about his arm, warm and wet skin on skin. The grip is loose and clammy. He pretends it doesn’t make his heart race. That’s his… best friend.

Once they’re inside, Shuichi stands in the doorway while Kaito’s flinging his shirt off his back and onto the floor. Standing directly beneath the air vent, the cold dormitory air nips at him. Looking back to his friend, he sets both hands on his hips and tilts his head.

“You comin’ or what?”

“C… Coming?” Shuichi parrots back.

“Yeah, we’re gonna shower.”

“Shower?” Shuichi probed with confusion. “Together?”

“Yeah, why not? We’re both men aren’t we? You ever been to a public bath house together?” Kaito contended.

Shuichi’s eyes scanned the floor nervously, his hand reaching for the door behind him to give it a quiet close. He smiled with apprehension.

“N-not really. And isn’t that different?”

Resting one hand on his shoulder, Kaito began winding the other arm as if stretching his muscles out a bit, feeling the way they stung under the rotation.

“No way! It’s the same thing. You just relax, you know? Wash each other’s backs. It’s good bonding, and I think it’ll help clear your head up a bit,” he says.

Shuichi winces with a pain Kaito can’t readily recognize, a renewed ruddiness spreading through his neck and ears.

“I-I don’t think that’s what this will do, Momota-kun…”

There’s a soft vibration at the back of Kaito’s mind, a buzzing that gets louder the longer he stares at Shuichi. It reminds him of the boy he knew back then, the tightness in his chest and the warmth he felt then. Maybe all the sweat has gone and pooled in his head, making it hard to think. Maybe it’s the faintness he gets after a good work out that leaves his head blank and blurry. He’s hyper aware of every angle in Shuichi’s body, and how… good he looks when gasping and unsteady-

Clearing his throat some, hoping to clear the fog in his brain in tandem, he tells himself that if he does this, he’ll know for sure that these feelings he has aren’t what he thinks they are. They never were. Shuichi jumps a bit at the sudden cough.

He and that boy never kissed. Never touched. Wrestled around, pinned each other to the earth, sometimes felt… weird about the closeness but they were kids. That’s what Kaito says to himself in the comfort of his mind. Something about all this though makes the droning in his skull sonorous. Kaito grins back at his sidekick and steps across the room to where Shuichi’s standing. Shuichi instinctively backs up to the door.

“Don’t worry-”

Kaito stops himself, interrupted by the detective’s heel bumping into the door.

“What’s wrong?”

Wincing outwardly, Shuichi gives a quakey smile.

“Nothing, I uh… just…”

The astronaut zeroes in on his friend, taking in the flushed skin and trembling lips to mean maybe... 

No, he doesn’t want to consider that idea. That would make all of this so much harder. It’s a taboo enough topic that he doesn’t even call it what it is in the sanctity of his mind. Not that it’s wrong, or bad, or dirty but… it’s just _not_ what it is. There’s no way.

Kaito’s eyes close and he picks at the back of his head absentmindedly.

“Hey, if you think it’s weird and I’m weird, that’s alright. You never gotta go and do shit you’re uncomfortable with.”

It’s for the best that they don’t, isn’t it? Making Shuichi think that he’s… interested in something that he isn’t is the last thing he wants to do. If he wants an out, he’ll give him an out.

And somehow, this has the opposite effect than he was going for. Instead of giving Shuichi an out, it seems to spur him on. The detective shakes his head and moves past him smoothly.

“I’m alright, Momota-kun.”

Turning around to face Shuichi once more, Kaito notices the tension in his back once he’s unbuttoned his dress shirt and dropped it to the floor. There’s something innately intimate about watching someone disrobe, more so than them being naked themselves. It’s probably got something to do with being allowed to see them slip out of their regular comfort, being allowed to watch them make themselves vulnerable to you. The idea of seeing Shuichi naked wasn’t that difficult. Kaito’s seen plenty of naked men. Watching his deft fingers tug at his zipper, and the way that he has to shove a hand into his pant leg, separate his tacky skin from the fabric, damp with sweat before sliding them off his hips… Kaito disguises an unmanly whimper in the back of his throat as a chuckle.

“A-alright! We’ll definitely sleep easy tonight after,” he adds. “Feels nice to have someone else scrub your back.”

It’s not… like that. It’s the same as getting your back scratched only, you’re both naked and wet. It’s totally the same thing. Men do it all the time.

And yet, when Shuichi makes a small, wordless sound that nearly dies in his throat as he drops his boxers and his flesh meets the chilling air of the room, Kaito’s breath hitches. Shuichi’s moving ahead of him now and turning the light on in the shower room. The dull roar of the pipes and the water gushing out serves to calm Kaito’s nerves. Against this background noise, his tensions temper and he slides the rest of his clothes off easy.

Once he’s naked, Kaito peers into the washroom to find Shuichi’s already inside, taking the bodywash into his hands and then searching the shelves for what Kaito can only guess is a loofah or a bath scrub. Snatching it, the purple scrub off the outside of the shower door, he presses it delicately into Shuichi’s back. Expecting him to jump, Shuichi maneuvers passively and takes it.

“Oh, thank you Momota-kun.”

Their eyes meet for a single second, water droplets drooping off of Shuichi’s already full, sable lashes, and Kaito stares, absorbed. Shuichi is impossibly handsome, and cute in the way he thinks girls are cute, probably. Kaito doesn’t give too much thought to romance but he knows when he sees a good looking girl. Shuichi darts his eyes away, making some sort of face before he starts lathering up the scrub. It’s a few different colors at least- a bit of purple and blue with little glittery freckles, just like space. Just when he’s about to start washing himself down though, Kaito’s hand, dry, meets with his shoulder and he pokes a head over.

“I can get some water, sidekick?”

Realizing he’s been standing directly under it the whole time, Shuichi goes a few shades of pink. Surely, if Kaito wasn’t postured immediately in the way, he’d shuffle right past but… he just sort of stares slack jawed for a moment before he nods.

“Y-yeah, sorry.”

Kaito blinks and then lets Shuichi slide past before he’s beneath the showerhead now. It’s not until he’s stood squarely under the flow that he realizes the water is _frigid_ , and Kaito yelps with a start.

“Wh-what the hell!?”

Straggling backwards, Kaito’s body knocks flush against Shuichi, who presses his hands up instinctively and shouts back.

“Momota-kun!?”

“It’s f-freezing, Shuichi! Do you always take ice cold showers!?”

The combination of the abrupt cold that washed over him and the warmth he’d felt for a few seconds at his back, the touch of Shuichi’s hands… Kaito makes a slight shiver and rests his palm upon the shelf beside him. _Get it the fuck together,_ he tells himself.

Shuichi is still behind him, in an impossibly cramped space to avoid being right up against Kaito as he murmurs, “Only after a training session. I don’t like to overheat and then stand under hot water.”

Ignorant to the implications therein, Kaito sucks in a breath and reaches for the knob.

“Warn a guy next time,” he chides.

Saying nothing in reply, Shuichi regards him quietly as they stand in silence. Kaito waits patiently until the water heats up before he plunges his head back underneath the flow. His fingers pry apart the dried up gel as the water smooths itself along his hanging face and jaw. He closes his eyes and reaches blindly for the shampoo beside him. As if on cue, he feels it fit into his hand with a curt, “Here,” and he smiles inwardly.

“Thanks, Shuichi.”

Soon he’s soaping up his dark hair, digging his fingers into his scalp and craning his head back to ensure it’s not falling into his eyes. Wordlessly, two sunny hands come up to touch him: one is posed on his shoulder while the other rubs the soaped up bath scrub in circles along his back. Instantly, Kaito lets out a sigh that bubbles into a laugh.

“That feels great,” he praises. “See? Isn’t this great?”

The tone of his voice makes it sound like he’s the one doing the work here. While he hogs the water and gets his back washed, Shuichi delivers a sideways smile and lathers him well.

“This isn’t bad,” he admits.

It’s heaven, the feeling of Shuichi’s gentle touches. Every rub upon his muscles feels careful and precise. He’s barely even noticed that his hand floated as if by magic from his shoulder to his side now, or how his thumb seems to rub circles into his back boundlessly. It’s calming. Kaito closes his eyes now and even stops his own motions, hands sitting in soapy clumps of hair while he lets Shuichi work him over. He sighs zestfully, only plucking himself from his reverie when he starts to feel bubbles traveling toward his eyes.

Stepping forward and out of Shuichi’s grasp, he shoves his head under the water once more, rinsing from the back of his head to the front. Until every strand of hair is the kind of clean that feels downright rubbery, Kaito runs his fingers to and fro through his locks. He stands upright and thinks to turn his back to the water. There’s a problem with that though.

He doesn’t have to look down necessarily to tell, but he’s at least… semi-hard.

_Shuichi won’t notice unless he’s looking there. He won’t be looking there, right? Unless of course it’s obvious enough out of the corner of his eye that he notices it anyways- fuck-_

Kaito bites his lip.

“Uh, Momota-kun,” Shuichi spoke up suddenly. “Can I get past to the water?”

 _Shit,_ of course, he’s hogging it. Turning and sidestepping past, Kaito winces as he nearly ends up smacking his dick against the shower door beside him in his bid to slide by unnoticed. This seems to have worked. Shuichi gives a soft ‘thank you’ as he strides back under the water. Eying the soft, milky skin of his back, Kaito holds his breath.

It’s almost over, he thinks to himself. _Almost over._ Never mind that this was _his_ idea in the first place. Kaito reaches a hand to snag the scrubby out of his hand, splatting a helping of his body wash onto it before kneading it into Shuichi’s back. The boy before him mumbles.

“What’s up?” Kaito shouts over the shower water.

“I-it feels good,” Shuichi repeats.

Those words coming out of his sidekick’s mouth do a thing to his brain. Little spiders of pleasure run straight to his dick, and he really doesn’t like that such a harmless, seemingly innocuous phrasing could do that to him. Gripping Shuichi’s shoulder a bit tighter, he lathers the soap in slow.

“That’s good,” Kaito says, and in a pursuit to make his narrowing grip seem natural, his hand poised upon his shoulder moves in toward his neck, pausing on the tender space in between where he can easily massage the muscles there.

Shuichi groans a bit under the touch but doesn’t move away. Kaito squeezes and pushes his fingers skillfully into his inner shoulders, gouging the inside knuckle of his thumb against a spot that he thinks must be tense. It feels like a knot and he watches Shuichi’s entire posture turn slack as he manipulates the muscle. All the while, he’s glazing the soap across his back, taking turns between scrubbing in circles and focusing in on one spot.

That one spot becomes the small of his back. Just above the two cutest back dimples he’s ever seen, Kaito scrubs back and forth, heeding the way Shuichi has started sighing out more and making the most subtle rocking motion on his heels.

It must feel really good huh, Kaito thinks.

Except, the way Shuichi makes a sort of embarrassed gasp in reply leads Kaito to believe that he’s actually let that slip out loud, and his hands stop completely.

“Y… you okay?”

Shuichi stammers and Kaito talks over him.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“N-no, Momota-... kun, it’s fine.”

Whatever he’s trying to say, whether he says it or whether it dies in his mouth, Kaito can’t remember. He’s taller so naturally he can see clear over Shuichi’s shoulder if he’s close enough, and he tastes fire at the back of his throat like a desert at the sight of him, soaking wet, glancing up at him as red as can be; he trembles with an erection that’s already leaking out the top and huddles closer to the corner of the shower to escape Kaito’s gaze.

“I-I’m sorry!”

Something flips a switch in Kaito’s head. Something like, the sight of his friend, simultaneously so coy and so… _lewd_. Something like knowing that his hands were capable of that. Something like that. He drops the bath scrub. Shirking his previous worries, Kaito steps forward after, the soaped up hand resting flat against his back.

“Hey, Shuichi. Don’t worry about it! This kinda shit’s normal. It happens all the time.”

Busy trying to make himself as small as possible, Shuichi barely takes his eyes off the corner of the wall to shoot Kaito a gauging gaze, curious if this is really okay or not. The anxious peer makes Kaito swallow hard and choose his next words carefully.

“If you feel weird about it, I can… uh, pretend I didn’t see it?”

Not carefully enough. Shuichi turns his head back around shamefully. Kaito locates his last remaining fuck and neatly tosses it out the window, lowering his slicked up hand to the small of Shuichi’s back, where apparently he’s sensitive. He makes a clear quiver and Kaito whispers in what he thinks is a sexy voice. It’s still brimming with uncertainty but, maybe that sort of mismatching air is what Shuichi needs.

“If you want then, I can do you this favor.”

Kaito’s fingers splay along his back. He’s not meaning to come on so strong but his hand is soon fastened to Shuichi's hip as he gives a gentle squeeze. The sleekness of Shuichi's skin is marveling. With his permission, he'd like to run his hands all over his body and find every part that makes him shudder like _this-_ when Kaito presses his thumb into the divots of his back.

Shuichi wobbles, his words dripping out of his mouth less like thoughts and more like… concepts he hasn’t gotten around to molding yet.

“Ah… i-if you want,” he trails off.

Unbeknownst to him, Kaito is eager to please. The very moment he has what he thinks is implicit assent, his hand snakes around and snatches him slow.

It’s the first time Kaito’s ever touched a cock that isn’t his, and he’s almost certain he can feel it too when Shuichi chokes sharply, jerking up into the touch. He reacts so brazenly, arching up against him and pressing his hands into the tile that Kaito can’t help but feel pride swell in his chest. God, he wants to make him feel _so good._ He wants to make Shuichi scream. His soaped up hand is gliding easy over his cock. Kaito’s free hand is turning taut against Shuichi’s hip, holding him in place as much as he can as he rubs him off.

Shuichi’s noises almost worry him- knifelike intakes of breath that sound more like an asthma attack than anything else. His misgivings are remedied when the detective makes a sharp cry out. It sounds needy and… so _horny,_ Kaito feels dizzy just listening to it. Quickening his speed, aiming to bring him to orgasm as fast as he can, Kaito presses his weight against the other boys back, watching over his shoulder as his cock, covered in foam, bobs about in his grip.

With a strangled moan, Shuichi reaches for Kaito’s hands.

“S… stop!”

In seconds, Kaito’s let go of his groin and has only his one hand on his side. Shuichi pants, gasping for air and leaning back against the astronaut, feeling the fruits of their touching brushing up against his hip. Kaito sounds nervous when he asks, “D… did I do something wrong?”

Shaking his head, Shuichi catches his breath.

“No, I… I don’t wanna cum yet.”

Puzzled, blinking down at Shuichi like a puppy, Kaito taps his fingers like a piano against his side.

“O-okay. Let me know what you want me to do.”

He mulls it over and then turns around to face Kaito. It’s then that Kaito realizes he hasn’t stood and really looked him up and down since stepping in here, petrified of thinking of him in _that_ way and making things awkward. Shuichi seems to prefer this openness, evidenced by how he makes a slight, wry smile despite the rose tint in his cheeks.

As if waiting for verbal permission, Kaito hesitates in letting his eyes travel down. Every inch of Shuichi Saihara looks so impeccably perfect. Every bone in his painfully visible rib even. The soft pink of his nipples look so perky and _biteable,_ and the only thing more flush and kissable are his lips.

“I wanna look at you,” Shuichi says.

Kaito nods, feeling hot all over.

Shuichi looks like he has something else to say but, perhaps doesn’t know how. He looks like he’s got the thought marinating but instead, reaches out and takes Kaito’s fully-hard cock into his own hand, rendering the astronaut speechless in a single bound. Almost as if on cue, Kaito stumbles forward into his touch, planting both of his hands onto the shower tile with the showerhead now drilling into his shoulder blades. Shuichi flattens himself to the tile and takes both of their dicks into his grip, gasping in and delighting in the touch, the texture of their cocks nestled together.

“Sh… Shuichi-”

“Is this okay?” he asks, and the way he’s begun to stroke them both at the same time the question sounds less and less like a genuine inquiry and more like his first attempt at dirty talk.

Kaito’s head goes vacant and he makes a soft sound low in his throat as he suckles on the bottom of his lip, rocking upward into the touch. He nods but doesn’t recall doing so. All he can do is push forward into Shuichi’s hand, up against the warmth of his dick and focus on how he needs _more_. This isn’t enough.

Unaware that he’s closed his eyes until he opens them up again, Kaito gets an eyeful of the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. Shuichi’s black, sooty eyelashes are blinking back water, protecting warm grey eyes like the moon itself as they stare up so sanguinely. His pupils swell, glossing over with lust and peering into his soul. His mouth hangs open like a gift, and Kaito accepts it acquiescingly. Their tongues mingle slow and messy, more out-of-mouth than inside the mouth, but the tangle of their bodies grows with every passing second. Kaito’s head feels like he’s caught in a haze. He can’t think of a single thing but Shuichi’s mouth, and Shuichi’s hands, and Shuichi’s cock. It’s here in his hands now.

Shuichi’s hand is overtaken by Kaito’s that rests overtop of it and they’re both pumping each other’s cocks with abandon and thirst. Their free hands roam. One of Shuichi’s legs comes to hook about Kaito’s waist. Pressing his weight further into the detective, Kaito seizes that leg in his grasp and yanks it up, earning him a delicious moan he eats up quick. Half of what they’re doing has no rhyme or reason. It just feels good to do. Both of them need more, faster, _closer._

Peeling his mouth away from Shuichi’s, Kaito plants his lips onto that part of his shoulders he seems to like so much. He sucks at the skin, biting in gently before giving an apologetic kiss when Shuichi cries in reply.

“Y-you okay?” Kaito asks moments before Shuichi ruts his hips up into Kaito’s again.

“I’m fine, don’t stop,” he snaps in a single breath.

Not needing to tell Kaito twice, he picks up their pace and is practically crushing Shuichi’s hand in his own. Fuck, he’s so _close_. Kaito doesn’t moan so much as he grunts and makes high-pitched whines in the back of his throat when he can’t hold himself back. They’re getting more and more frequent as Shuichi sets a rhythm with humping into their hands. Kaito can barely take it anymore, falling apart soon into a chant of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s that he’s certain someone could hear outside.

“Momota-kun, I’m… I’m-”

“Yeah,” Kaito says. “M-me too.”

The hand that’s holding Shuichi’s leg up migrates to his ass as he moves to grind their hips together further. Shuichi’s eyes magic themselves shut again, the glittering fan of his eyelashes against his cheek the most beautiful sight Kaito’s ever seen. And he _moans,_ like he’s being unmade, like if Kaito were to stop this very second he wouldn’t let him live. The way Shuichi’s leg has hooked completely around Kaito’s waist tells him as much.

Every sound out of Shuichi’s mouth for the next fifteen seconds is muddled in with a soft ‘M’ sound that won’t quite work its way out. It builds and climbs, and in seconds it crescendos in a shivering, broken echo of Kaito’s name. Thick ropes of white shoot up into the maze of their hands, and the way Shuichi shivers and twitches, cries like he’s never felt pleasure before this moment, makes Kaito’s orgasm rise up to meet him.

And now they’re both covered from chest to stomach in each other’s cum.

It doesn’t last long. The shower water makes quick work of their fun. It’s almost disappointing, Kaito thinks to himself, wishing he could’ve had a few seconds longer to look down and marvel at their mess. The thought doesn’t come until after they’ve plummeted from their high. Kaito gently lets Shuichi’s leg down, watching as the other boy winces like the limb’s gone asleep and he makes a soft chuckle. Leaning up against the shower wall and glancing down at his spunk soaked hand, Kaito wonders what he was ever afraid of.

That was… not bad at all.

Shuichi seems as though he’s about to pass out any second now, panting with silly, sex-sick eyes that are staring off into space like he’s actually, never cum before in his life until now. Kaito nudges at his temple with his nose.

“You awake down there?”

Nodding slow and lifting his hand mindlessly into the stream of water, feeling the gooey warmth replaced by the thin kind, Shuichi then reaches out for Kaito with both hands and tugs him close.

“Mhm,” he maintains, delighting in the way Kaito’s pressing soft smooches into the side of his head.

It’s such a mushy gesture that feels almost… out of place. After all, weren’t they just doing each other a favor?

Shuichi’s afraid to ask. Talking about it seems secondary. What he feels right now, what this feels like to him… might not have a word just yet, but it feels good.

“C’mon,” Kaito murmurs. “I think I’m starting to prune.”

To that, Shuichi lets out a warm chuckle.

They sleep in the same bed that night and agree not to talk about what they did that night. At least not until they find themselves back there tomorrow night. Perhaps then… they find a word for what they feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they left their jackets outside v_v
> 
> reminder u can request ship stuff and if i like it ill give it a go! doesnt have to be a momota ship either ehehe he's just my focus rn.


	8. Oumota | Unwelcome Distraction [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Rough Oral Sex, Distraction Sex, Secret Relationship, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot  
> spoilers: none
> 
> guess i'm on a smut kick. some things abt this one-shot: ouma is trans in this but it's kind of a background concept i don't develop (its pwp where he gives a blowjob) so i didnt tag it. i will if he's trans in future fics tho. momota isn't dating anyone so he's not cheating on anyone. he just doesn't want anyone to know he's messing around with ouma (bc he hates him, or appears to lol). cosmo is the name of momota's... pet. maybe a dog? cat? i didn't think too hard on it. non-despair au? idk where they are in this but they are like... adults with apartments and shit so just roll with it its pwp

Pocketing the phone between his shoulder and cheek, Kaito hoists one leg onto the bed, fingers reaching nimbly for his shoe laces. Kokichi’s busy perfecting his evil eye, training it perfectly onto Kaito’s sneaker as it sits on top of his perfectly white sheets. As if on cue, Kaito notices the scowl and gives a _‘tch’_ of his own, flapping his wrist to shoo him off even as he stands on the other side of the room.

He’s silent, of course, because Shuichi doesn’t know that he’s here. To directly bitch at Kokichi would require admitting where he’s at. Lord knows he doesn’t want to answer any questions. Lord knows he doesn’t want to bear admitting that he likes the guy enough to enter his house, much less do what it is he comes here to do.

“Yeah?” he replies, distracted, patting his hips for pockets that his basketball shorts don’t have and glancing around the bed and table for his keys.

Shuichi’s giving him directions to the new gym they’re meeting up at tonight. It’s clear across town but it’s easier on Shuichi’s gas money. Driving’s always been fun for Kaito so it’s not like he minds it. It’s an adventure of sorts. Had he the money to support such a weird hobby, he’d drive around the city for fun at night just to relax. Most people thought it to be a hassle. Kaito thought otherwise.

Kokichi’s doing something in the corner of his eye but Kaito won’t give him an iota of his attention right now. Sifting through discarded clothes that lay in piles scattered across the shag carpeted floor, kicking over a pair of Kokichi’s panties, he thinks for sure he’ll find his keys under it. He could’ve sworn when he ripped the little fucker’s panties off with his teeth he threw them onto his keys.

The aforementioned fucker clears his throat. Kaito’s eyes widen moments before he covers his eyes with his hands.

 _He has my keys doesn’t he,_ he thinks with a grunt.

Immediately, his tone jumps into falsetto before leveling out.

“No, no! I’m listening. Just… lookin’ for my keys, haha. I think Cosmo nabbed ‘em again,” he fibs, almost as expertly as his partner in crime in the corner of the room. “Now, you said… turn left on Madison?”

Kaito stands up straight and finds Kokichi, wearing a grin that’s eaten a _lot_ of shit and twirling his keys around his finger like a cocky jailer. Approaching him stiffly, Kaito holds his hand out. The look Kokichi offers the appendage is easier seen than described: his smile, bright and mocking, and his eyebrows, knitted and curling like Kaito’s the most pathetic man he’s ever seen.

And he probably is.

When Kokichi doesn’t deliver, Kaito makes for a grab, foolishly. Never faster than the smaller of them, Kokichi dangles it away from him. Growling, Kaito yanks his left hand up to fasten the phone tightly to his face while the other makes a swatting motion to knock the keys from his grasp. With a giggle, Kokichi dodges out of the way and makes a tug on Kaito’s collar to yoink him in close. Kissing him smartly, Kokichi feels pride swell in his chest at the way Kaito softens into the contact, like he just can’t help himself around him.

Breaking the kiss, Kokichi holds a hand to his mouth and whispers, “Still wanna leave, Momota-chan?”

As if he hadn’t just given into the other boy’s feverish provocations, Kaito regards him with a cold stare, resting a single hand against the drywall while the other’s nervously gripping his android.

“On _Maria,_ not Madison, gotcha,” he continues to Shuichi.

Returning Kaito’s expectant stare with a merciless pout, Kokichi folds his arms and squints. Normally Kaito would remark that he looks impeccably cute when he’s not all smirks and levity. The pout is just adorable. Most pouts are. When Harumaki does it, he feels compelled to buy her all the boba tea’s she wants. Right now he’s just trying to get out the door though.

Nodding to Shuichi’s instruction, he doesn’t let his eyes leave Kokichi’s.

“Uh huh,” Kaito acknowledges, eyes burning a deeper shade of violet as he mouths _give me my fucking keys._

Kokichi rolls his eyes with a snort, remarking inwardly at how boring Momota-chan has to be all the time. Then an idea hits him. The keys drop into the warmth of his pocket and he watches the ire spread from Kaito’s eyes to the rest of his face (especially in the lock of his jaw). Kaito reaches for the pocket only for Kokichi to catch his hand in his and pull him close. Every single time the tiny brat yanks Kaito down to his level, the astronaut trainee feels his head swim with the motion. He’s nearly a full foot taller, dammit. It’s dizzying. What’s worse is when Kokichi digs his teeth into his neck. Kaito muffles a groan and he abandons his venture for the phone, covering his mouth with his palm.

He chuckles nervously.

“Wh-what? No. Uh- I accidentally stubbed my toe. Yeah, fuck, ow. That stung… Fuckin’ bitch ass table,” Kaito cusses, clearly directing those insults to the real cause for complaint who’s started to roam his hands around frenetically, palming him through his pants.

What on _Earth_ is he trying to do?

“Fuckin’ _pain in the ass_ table,” he adds. “I-I gotta find my keys, Shuichi. I’ll call you back.”

“Don’t,” Kokichi demands, Kaito’s dick now in a vice grip that makes his heart sweat.

“What?” he asks angrily, _breathlessly,_ forgetting completely that he’s supposed to be pretending Kokichi isn’t there with him right now, suckling hickies into his neck, sliding his fingers across his abs and clenching his (now semi-hard) dick.

When Shuichi replies in what Kokichi can only assume is vague confusion, Kaito clears his throat and starts with an ‘Um’ that dies in his throat the moment Kokichi starts stroking him again.

“Ngh… give me a second, I- … I gotta get a pen and paper, t-to write down your instructions. I’ve- fuck. I’ve forgot them already man, I’m so sorry to be wasting your time like this.”

Kaito has a vague idea of what’s going on now. Unless he lets him do this, he knows he’s not getting his keys tonight. Still, his fingernails are digging into the wall instead of around this brat’s neck (where he knows he likes it anyways). Holding his breath and turning the phone away from his mouth but still hooked to his ear, he casts a death glare to the boy below. Kokichi has already made it down to his knees- a smart move so that Kaito can’t make a grab for the keys.

His dick makes an unceremonious bounce out of his shorts when Kokichi gleefully wrenches both the shorts and his boxers down with ease. Still only half there, he takes the underside into his mouth. Glancing up at Kaito with the brightest puppy dog eyes in the world, Kokichi suckles and tongues the base of his cock, running his tongue along the vein underneath and letting it rest completely against the front of his face.

 _Fuck,_ he can’t look down and see that. He suppresses another sound, swallowing it like vegans swallow steak (which is to say poorly) and locking his eyes up tight.

“I got my pen and paper,” Kaito says. “I got the pen and paper, what’s the address?” he repeats in his daze.

Whatever is being said to him goes in one ear and out the other. He knows better than to look down but Kokichi’s motions are so particular. He’s lathering his tongue in circles around the head and kissing it soft- _teasing._ Sucking his lips in, Kaito’s free hand curls into a fist against the wall. He waits until Shuichi has gone quiet for more than a few seconds to continue.

“U-uh-huh? Is that… is that downtown or…?” he asks, a pointless inquiry to keep the conversation going as unnecessarily long as possible.

For all the patience that Shuichi Saihara has, it was only a matter of time before he’d eventually ask if something’s wrong. Not thinking it’d be this soon, Kaito winces and stares at the wall.

“N-no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… um…”

Kaito can’t think of a good lie.

“It’s just hard,” he begins, his foggy head making it worse because _god_ is he hard. “It’s hard to, y-you know, get out of my comfort zone, yeah? We’re goin’ somewhere I’ve never been before.”

That’s when he feels his dick slide into the hollow of Kokichi’s throat, his cheeks wrapping around it and his subtle gag jolting him with pleasure. And he yanks his phone away from his face completely, leaning his shivering form up against the wall as he groans into his hand, cellophaned to his mouth.

Kokichi giggles. He can’t hear it but he can feel the vibration.

Carefully holding the phone back to his ear, Kaito coughs out an “I’m sorry?”

Kokichi can barely make out a, _‘I didn’t think you were sensitive about stuff like that, Momota-kun,’_ from the other side, and he snickers more. His hands are climbing up Kaito’s legs, nails dragging down his hips as he swallows him whole again and again. Kaito grimaces, powerless. He’s really too talented with his mouth. Kaito wants so bad to put the phone down and go for what would now be round four before walking out the door but he knows Kokichi won’t let him. Keeping it together as best as he can, he tilts his head back and sighs.

“Yeah, I… I didn’t think it would bother me but I’m so used to our usual spot, I guess.”

The way Kokichi’s taking him into his mouth is driving him quietly wild. His toes curl inside his sneakers and he’s canting his hips up into his lips now, muffling his little stutters and murmurs of pleasure into his shoulder. The worst part is that he can’t help but find the appeal in what Kokichi’s done. The thrill of possibly getting caught might be part of what drove him to this boy in the first place. It’s not as if anyone would care but the wound to his pride is what’s at stake.

This is quite a few octaves higher than that. The idea of getting caught having sex while on the phone with his best friend has the head of his dick aching like it’s about to pop off. He shouldn’t be turned on by this. It’s _wrong_ isn’t it?

Oh, but he’s so close to blowing it all down this guy’s throat. He really can’t stop to think about what’s right or wrong right now. It’s fine that Kokichi has his number. He’s about to get way more than that in a few seconds.

Latching his palm to the back of Kokichi’s head, Kaito gives a shove and the boy beneath him chokes. _Shit,_ if it wasn’t for the fact that he knows he likes it rough, his heart would be swelling with so much guilt. It’s not like him to be rough but Kokichi brings it out of him. He wants him to be rough, asks for him to spank and choke gently and talk down to him. Kaito is never any good at it. He’s the one who kisses up Kokichi’s arm and leaves him rolling his eyes and rolling over after sex. Nothing too emotional or too invested for him. It’s hard to be the tough guy he wants.

It’s so easy now though. It’s so easy to fuck his mouth and forget. It’s so easy to get lost in the boundless pleasure shooting through him and focus only on the wetness, the warmth, the way Kokichi’s clinging tightly to him like he’s going to cum untouched, just by throating him. It’s blissful and it’s _fucking perfect._ Just like Kokichi is.

And through all of this, Kaito has almost forgotten he’s on the phone. One hand still holds it affixed to his ear and the other has his fingers tied around the hair closest to Kokichi’s roots, drawing him onto his cock. What does he say? What was the last thing Shuichi said to him?

His climax is rising in him, out of his stomach, faster, _faster-_

Kokichi’s moaning so loud, there’s no way Shuichi can’t hear. Kaito throws his phone.

Becoming a crumbling mess up against the wall, Kaito lets out a flurry of groans, high in his throat and desperate.

“O-oum… Ouma,” he beckons, irresistibly under his spell.

Then he cums, and he doesn’t think to pull his partner away. Like clockwork, he paints the back of his throat, and Kokichi launches a fist squarely into Kaito’s hip. Wriggling out of his grasp, Kokichi coughs and flops to the floor. Kaito shivers and sighs, reaching a hand to catch the remainder of what’s gushing out with his hand. Through pants of breath he makes a small, “Sorry ‘bout that,” much to Kokichi’s annoyance.

“I don’t mind swallowing, Momota-chan. I’m very well trained,” he says, and Kaito has no idea what he’s talking about. “But try to at least warn me before you do it.”

Wringing his dick out of what’s left, Kaito hangs his head.

“Will do.”

Still recovering, Kaito remains stationary while Kokichi ambles up. He’s searching for the phone, naturally. Kaito doesn’t want to find it. He doesn’t want to know what Shuichi thinks happened on the other side. Taking a few more deep breaths before he unfurls himself from the wall, he makes a grab for the kleenex box, overhearing Kokichi in the background.

“Oh, Momota-chan? He fell down a flight of stairs.”

Kokichi throws Kaito a grin.

“Yes, from the first floor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only just realized, sorry for the american sounding street names. i wasnt thinking too hard with a pwp. also idk what japanese street names sound like, sorrie


	9. Saimota | Minty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Kissing  
> spoilers: vague end of chapter 3 spoilers
> 
> very small, almost poetic thing. i was thinking about how momotas got to hide from saihara somehow.
> 
> lots n lots of brushing his teeth.

Shuichi giggles into the kiss and a bittersweet fruit takes root in Kaito’s chest. Feeling sheepish, he pulls his face away, tongue absentmindedly curling across his frowning lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Kaito’s eyes, warm and anxious rest on Shuichi’s lips. His own are pouting. The detective goes noticeably pinker.

“Your mouth is always so clean,” he says. “Minty.”

“Is that bad?” Kaito asks.

“I never said it was.”

The astronaut's eyes mingle with the floor. Apprehension settles like dust in him and he makes a sideways smile.

“You’re kinda weird sometimes, Shuichi. You pointing out small stuff like that, is that cause you’re a detective?”

His eyebrows wrinkling gentle, a mild amusement, Shuichi traces his fingernails down the veins of Kaito’s arms.

“That’s not really detective work, Momota-kun,” he whispers, feeling bold. “This could never be work.”

When they kiss, Shuichi licks the front of Kaito’s teeth. It’s strange. Such care and attention. Kaito deepens the contact, tugging the boy into his embrace to coalesce. Shuichi tastes like ginger and something Kaito’s never had before.

Tastes impeccably honest. Nothing like mint.


	10. Saimota | Accidents Happen [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Watersports, Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuichi, Vaginal Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot  
> spoilers: none
> 
> my original desire was to write silly, embarrassing saimota sex. i wanted momota to accidentally make saihara laugh and just, have a happy, fun time with something funny happening rather than trying to make something sexy.
> 
> so i looked online for “funny/embarrassing sex stories” for ideas on what to write. a lot of them were things like “i accidentally peed during sex but he didnt make fun of me for it” and i thought, i could do that. i see momota as a pretty vanilla guy but i figured he wouldnt make a big deal and make saihara feel bad over something embarrassing.
> 
> the thought occurred to me though that i probably cant get away with writing that unless i go the whole nine yards and write a watersports fic (if i only go halfway, ppl who like WS fics wont like it, and ppl who are aggressively against pee even in a funny/humorous fic wont like it), which ive never done before bc, no offense to other ppl who are into it, its usually not my thing or my kink. but this came out so, take it i guess?
> 
> oh yeah shuichi is trans in this.

Hips rattling with pleasure, his pattern breaks itself up into a few unbalanced thrusts as his gasps turn louder. Gulping air, Kaito goes slack jawed, brain blank as he pounds into his love. Shuichi’s legs hook tightly around Kaito’s waist. They squeeze fruitlessly, trembling with abandon. With every passing second they feel more numb. His body feels as though it’s fizzing up like bubbles and turning to jello around him. He moans in a sickly saccharine desperation that makes Kaito grit his teeth and fuck him _harder._

“Ah… Momota-kun, b-be careful,” he stammers out, feeling a certain weight against his bladder as Kaito rests a palm against his abdomen, feverishly kneading his clit with the pad of his thumb.

It’s _so good-_ Shuichi almost doesn’t want to warn him. Maybe it’s the surprise that has him feeling excited for it. It’s almost the inevitability. As Kaito shuts his eyes, thrusting more zealous and more uneven, Shuichi knows his orgasm’s coming up. He whispers in a voice lower than his own, but so quickly and excitedly, “Are you going to cum?”

Unable to speak, Kaito nods frantically, the tail end of one of his breaths stringing out into an undignified whine.

One hand snatches up Kaito’s that rests on the pillow beside his head. Their fingers link at once and they squeeze. Kaito groans with need. Mushy gestures like that seem to do something for him. It’s endearing, Shuichi thinks, and he squishes their hands together. Taking hold of the other that's busy pressing up against him, Shuichi shivers. 

“I-I wanna cum too, at the same time. Please,” begs Shuichi, leading Kaito’s hand to rest directly over top of his pelvis.

Kaito’s movements speed up and his entire thumb and the side half of his hand are slicking up and down Shuichi’s slit, the lack of friction a turn on- just like how easily Kaito’s entire length is burying itself deep inside of him again and again, effortlessly, like he was made for it. The smacking sound of fluid and wet skin is proof and it drives Kaito’s senses wild. He doesn’t last long.

With a strangled breath of Shuichi’s name stumbling out of his lips, Kaito shudders and empties his worth. The delightful warmth leaking out around his cock is spectacular. More than that, Kaito's managed to make Shuichi scream, clinging to him tightly while he reaches his climax, applying all the pressure Shuichi needed against his bladder. He steadily lets go.

When Shuichi cums, he can’t help what comes out. He wanted it too, at least secretly, but he can’t help the shame he feels as his bladder pours itself out too. A sudden comforting heat envelops them both, leaking into the mattress with a startling quickness and plucking Kaito from his reverie. The thick, consuming warmth that greets him only feels satisfying. Kaito nearly doesn’t notice it at all except for the sudden stream that meets him. It splashes against him, though the rest flows out weakly. Still panting with his dick still buried deep in his boyfriend, he clears the fog in his head long enough to gaze down at Shuichi, almost floored by the look of absolute bliss on his face like he’s never seen before.

 _God,_ he _just_ came and yet his dick twitches in reply. Shuichi Saihara is truly one of the most beautiful boys he’s ever seen in his life, and the noise he’s making, like he’s lost all bodily control (which is not inaccurate) is stunning. That pretty mouth that’s busy making all this racket is all Kaito’s to kiss, and he sticks his tongue inside. They suckle on each others mouths while Shuichi slips down from his high, and the moment he does, he’s wearing a bashful frown.

The scent between them is obvious. Kaito can’t pretend he doesn’t know what happened anymore.

“I’m sorry, Momota-kun. This has never happened to me before-” he starts to explain.

“Hey,” Kaito says, bringing a hand to Shuichi’s cheek, caressing soft, face a bit anxious but… not unhappy. “I’m not mad. Stuff like this happens. You’ll uh, have to help me clean part of it up but…”

The look in Kaito’s eyes is priceless. The detective’s never seen the other boy look quite so heated, gazing down through half-lidded eyes that see right through him. Still, they’re warm and soft, like him, and there’s no judgment in them. His smile is curious, unsteady. 

“It looked to me like you enjoyed it a lot,” Kaito insists.

All Shuichi offers is a whimper and a rut. Kaito rotates his hips around with a thrust, the combination of so many different fluids down there combining to make possibly the _nastiest_ sound ever heard. Shuichi chokes back a noise he’s never made before, feeling unbearably full and like a proper disaster down there.

“Did that feel good? Letting it go like that?”

The questions puzzle Shuichi. He’s a detective though; he can decipher it easily.

They sound less like Kaito is concerned with his partner’s pleasure and more like he’s concerned with his own. He _liked_ it. Kaito thought that was hot. Shuichi nods back in reply. Honesty has always been the sexiest talk between them.

“I-it did… is that gross?” Shuichi asks, already able to tell Kaito enjoyed it but… wanting him to say it.

“No, not at all baby,” he rasps out, leaning down all the way to take Shuichi’s face into both hands and kiss him with passion.

It was a gamble but it seems to have worked. Shuichi’s arms tie themselves around Kaito’s neck and they make a few squirms up against each other’s wet bodies. It feels intimate, and special in a way he can’t word. Kaito pulls away from the kiss and smiles at him gently.

“I feel sorta proud,” the astronaut confesses, scratching his cheek with a coy smirk. “It’s not often you fuck someone so good they piss themselves.”

His face now thoroughly dyed in pink, Shuichi shoves both hands into Kaito’s face with a whine.

“Maybe don’t say that.”

Giggling and pressing kisses into the palms of Shuichi’s hands, Kaito smirks, leaving the imprint of his smile against the lines in his hands.

“Mmmmm, maybe. If I get a few more kisses… and if you get up and help me carry these sheets to the laundry room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a lot of fluffy, cute, non-smutty saimota ideas but every time i try to write them i just come back to smut. it'll happen eventually yall.


	11. Kaemaki | Canon in D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Alternate Universe - Canon  
> spoilers: up to chapter 3 daily life
> 
> my first one-shot that doesn’t have momota in it!!! *blows a noisemaker* ive wanted to write some kaemaki for a bit and this is kinda small and doesn’t have a lot of shippy content yet bc i wanna warm up to writing them but i wanna write kaemaki more. if enough ppl like it ill try and write more.
> 
> this is alternate canon where chapter 1 didnt go… like That. details are fuzzy. all you need to know is that kaede’s there for maki’s reveal.

The sun began to set on the Academy for Gifted Juveniles. Maki was sat in a classroom all by her lonesome, enjoying the silence and the relative calm passing over the school. She chewed absently on her lip as the sunlight filtering in through the windows bathed the room in an orange glow. Despite the only thing lingering outside of the windows being sky and courtyard, the barbed wire keeping the windows untouchable mocked her.

It’s not like she was in a rush to get back to her job. The only thing that worried her was… _them._

The classroom door slid open. Maki’s head swiveled, her pigtails a swinging death threat to whomever to was about to trespass in her vicinity. Malice dripped off of her aura in waves. Maybe it was that idiot coming to bug her again. Ever since her talent was revealed, Maki made it her mission to go nowhere near her lab. Perchance if she gave them all no reason to believe she’d yank a gun off the wall and fill them full of more holes than the swiss cheese parade they would leave her be. She could only hope, but she knew people.

Scared, hopeless, looking for an enemy to rally against- _she knew people._

And yet-

“Harukawa-san?”

Kaede stood at the doorway. She wouldn’t get rabies if she came closer but Maki knew she had the fear of God in her. Like the taste of blood in her mouth, Maki had a gaze like hardened iron. Kaede wore a smile and so, she let up on her evil eye.

“What do you want?”

The way Kaede shut the door behind her instantly and came marching over made Maki groan. _Shit_ , she’s went and given her the idea that she actually consented to a conversation. Maki should really sound more like a bitch sometimes, she remarks to herself. That way people like Kaito and Shuichi would leave her alone. That way, meddlers and self-proclaimed saviors like Kaede would leave her alone.

One hand was fastened to her backpack strap while the other pointed a thumb over her shoulder.

“Oh good, you’re not busy! It’s getting dark so I was going to swing by the cafeteria and get some dinner. I wanted you to come with me.”

Maki studied Kaede’s face and posture, searching for the reason why. It came to her quick enough. There’s a gentle sort of dishonesty in Kaede’s face. It’s not dangerous but it’s pink and passive.

“Saihara is hanging out with Momota right now,” she deduces.

Kaede hums a melody in her throat with an anxious grin.

“Y-yeah he is, but!” Kaede begins, gesticulating with her whole hand toward Maki, like she’s been chosen for something special. “That doesn’t mean that I’m lying about wanting to hang out with you! In fact, I’ve been waiting for a chance when we’re both free, and… you aren’t hiding in your lab.”

The pianist's words trail off and Maki can physically observe the moment her brain turns black and grey, remembering Maki’s talent, remembering Maki’s lab, remembering why everyone has been keeping their distance from her as though she’s diseased… and Maki assures herself that she is. No one should want to think otherwise.

Pausing for the punchline, for the tug of the rug, Maki scours Kaede’s form for harm. All the pianist does is wait. The line of Maki’s mouth turns from a straight line into a jagged frown, turning her attention back toward the LED classroom board and only giving Kaede her gaze through a malcontented side-eye.

“You should stay away from me. You and that idiot both.”

“Idiot?” Kaede repeats; the realization comes slow. “Oh, him.”

Maki’s hands feel heavier on the desk, like she’s made of lead. Her finger idly fiddles with the inside of her sleeve. The material feels too soft for her. Just like these pigtails feel too feminine for her. Just like the child caregiver role was too gentle for her. Just like all her dreams of being something unlike a monster are too out of reach for her.

She’s a walking pipedream, a living escapist fantasy of the type of person she wants to be. It only gnaws at her that Kaito can believe in this lie because she, herself, cannot anymore. It’s tortuous and a unique kind of pain, seeing others who can see what you wish you could in yourself. She wrote the flawed narrative herself. Why can’t anyone else see that it’s fake?

“I can’t speak for anyone else but myself, but I don’t think you’re a bad person, Harukawa-san.”

When Kaede speaks up, Maki takes extra care to not show she’s affected. She aggressively directs her eyes to the lower left-most corner of her vision but doesn’t turn her head. She feigns apathy.

“I mean, if you wanted to kill someone you could’ve done it so easily. The first blood perk would’ve ensured you got out of here.”

The assassin clamps her eyes shut like clams.

“You’ve had so many chances. You’re… you’re skilled at this, aren’t you?” Kaede asks, and her cadence has dipped low like she’s mumbling secrets no one’s ever heard, and truths she doesn’t want to believe in. “But because of that, I can tell… you’re not a bad person.”

Twisting around in her seat, Maki levels her dead eyes with Kaede’s. The tedium evident on her face is not purposeful. Truly, Maki grows weary of hearing excuses like this.

“Is that all for now?”

Kaede blinks back her puzzlement.

“Huh? Am I wrong, Harukawa-san?”

Maki’s temper drips with ennui.

“You want to trust me only because you can’t stand to suspect me. It isn’t in you to be distrustful of someone who hasn’t done anything to warrant it. To summarize, you don’t think I’m really who Ouma said I am.”

She pulls a disgusted face and says, “You don’t believe in me, you’re just a coward.”

Gawking with what Maki thinks is defeat, Kaede’s mouth becomes small and her fingers sort of twitch in mid air, as if reaching for the things she doesn’t know how to say. And she goes mum, shutting her eyes momentarily in what Maki thinks is a thinking expression before she straightens her back up with a smile.

“So that’s it! Alright. I’ll just have to show you that I mean it then.”

Reaching out for Maki’s hand, the assassin freezes up and lacks the facilities to yank her hand away when she probably should. When Kaede takes her by the wrist and pulls her up, she offers a wildly delightful smile from ear to ear.

“Up and at ‘em!”

Maki instinctively tugs her arm back to her chest, stumbling back toward her seat and away from the blond with a stammering, “W-what are you doing?”

Kaede points a painted nail in her face.

““Canon in D” by Pachelbel is a beautiful song! It gets played at funerals all the time but it’s full of hope and can be so very bright! I’ll play it for you! Then you’ll see.”

The two girls make their way out of the classroom, Maki more or less being dragged along against her will. Glowering down at the soft ( _so_ incredibly soft) hand that has linked around her wrist like a delicate, well-manicured handcuff, Maki’s cheeks burn and she scowls in frustration.

Why does she care so much? What does it matter if she’s a good person or not? What is Kaede getting out of this? She’s an idiot. She’s just as much of an idiot as the rest of them here are. These platitudes over believing in people and never giving up- _they won’t save any of them._ Maki knows this. Maki knows when she tried her best to save… _her._ Maki knows when she thought that volunteering would make it easier, that she could bear what _she_ could not. Maki knows the lengths you can go to in order to save others but when does it end? When the guilt becomes too much? When the one’s you're bargaining with decide to not hold up their end of the deal?

Always at the mercy of other people and other things, Maki yanks her hand back.

Kaede turns to glance back at Maki, the now burning red and purple sun casting a kaleidoscope of feelings, emotions and desires all over the other girl’s face… and her outstretched hand. Despite her misgivings, it still lingers for her to grab at any time. Kaede’s voice is high and velvety.

“Harukawa-san?”

“What will I see?”

Recalling what she’d said as they stormed out of the classroom, Kaede splays her fingers, jutting her hand out farther with the intent for Maki to grab it.

“How I feel about you.”

Maki’s heart stutters, trips and then falls.

The hand looks warm. Maki takes it from the side like a handshake.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but… keep walking,” Maki says with a pout.

Giggling some at the strange way Maki takes her hand, Kaede clenches it sincerely like she’s holding onto her heart… and in some ways, she is.

In a lot of ways, in fact, she is.


	12. Haruma | Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Underage Drinking, Alcohol, Ultimate Talent Development Plan (Dangan Ronpa)  
> spoilers: up to chapter 3 daily life
> 
> one of my friends on twitter wanted me to write harukawa/iruma and !!! turns out this is a very weird, but oddly fun dynamic
> 
> more f/f !! *blows a kazoo*

Girls? Well, let’s just say girls are _incredible._

It doesn’t matter where you meet them, it doesn’t matter what they’re wearing, it doesn’t even matter whether they’re straight or gay… chances are, they’re more tolerable to be around and more pleasant to look at than men. These are the facts as Maki Harukawa has learned them throughout the years. Her time at Hopes Peak Academy has mostly consisted of minding her own damn business and pretending to the best of her abilities to give a shit about children. It’s a full time job to do both of those things because people are idiots and children are… idiots.

Don’t get her wrong, kids are great. There’s just a reason that she’s not the real child caregiver and she’s an assassin. The extent of her child care-giving is ensuring the orphanage stays funded via her part-time job- one that apparently the higher ups are privy to. Why they would let a conditioned killer into their midst is beyond her scope of understanding but far be it from her to criticize. It gives her something to focus on that isn’t blood and guts. It’s a well earned distraction.

After all, that’s why she’s at this party, isn’t it? To distract herself. Kaede’s voice is still echoing in her half-empty head, _‘you need to take a break,’ ‘you need to settle down,’ ‘if you don’t find something fun to do, you’re going to get wrinkles by the time you’re 25.’_

Pretending that she isn’t genuinely bothered by the idea of aging physically by a sizeable margin, Maki is here. Where is here? _Someone’s_ house. She got dropped off by Shuichi who was ultra insistent on repeating his number multiple times to ensure she had it right. He didn’t want her getting home tonight without a safe ride. Maki rolled her eyes. The day that she gets sozzled at some over glorified high school mixer is the day that hell freezes over.

The music isn’t too bad, Maki remarks to herself as she keeps flowered to the wall. In her hand is a red cup and some punch she thinks is safe. She’s sure she knows enough about the taste of alcohol to tell if it's any different than it should be. They’d give her chuhai to help her sleep growing up. It’s fruity so kids typically learn to love the taste. She’s never liked it. Anything the Holy Salvation Society forced onto her, she never liked.

Sipping slowly, she traces the backs of every teen dancing and quickly learns she’s certain some people are fucking out there. Yeah, there’s at least a 45% chance that the dancing she’s seeing are actually people grinding together hard enough to be considered dry humping. She’s glad she was here to witness it, she thinks sarcastically.

She downs the rest of her punch and tosses the cup somewhere she can’t see. Nature calls. Migrating along the outside wall, dodging furniture and some guy she’s sure is moments away from tossing more cookies than an aggravated baker, Maki finds a door that maybe looks like it goes to a bathroom and opens it right up.

A couple steadily smacking lips turns to face her.

“H-hey!” the brown haired boy shouts.

Maki’s eyes travel. His knee is set squarely between a second boy’s against what should be a shelving behind them. They’re… making out in a linen closet.

“Hinata-kun, close the door,” the other boy whispers.

The first boy kicks the door shut with a start. Maki blinks with a placid stare.

That wasn’t the bathroom. She does find it though, heading up the stairs and toward a wide open door with pale fluorescent lighting shining out of it. Maki peeks her head around the corner to find the body of a blond girl strewn about the floor, less like how human beings should lay and more like a puppet with its strings cut off. A brief panic like cold steel pierces her mind once but with proper examination, Maki steps into the bathroom slow. She’s not dead. She can recognize a dead body instinctively on sight. This girl’s just shitfaced.

The sound of her subtle groaning is blotted out by the latest TWICE hit. Maki examines the girl, taking note of how her pink pleated skirt has started to ride up. Without thinking twice, Maki yanks the hem down over black lace panties. The gesture, however kind, causes the girl to stir. Rumbling like a lion, she forces herself up on her hands and slurs out a, “Who’s t-t-touchin’ my ass... is… is it _you?”_

She asks the question, twisting her back to get a glimpse of Maki who’s standing above her with an unruffled stare.

“What are you doing in here?” Maki asks.

Turning over on her side and then on her back, the prone girl makes a sensitive sort of face, sucking her bottom lip up under her top row of teeth and squeezing her arms up against the sides of her tits, propping them out.

“I can’t remember… Are you gonna help jog my memory, tiny-tits?”

Whether that was meant affectionately or pejoratively, Maki can’t tell. She mostly doesn’t care, but she can’t get a word out anyways before the girl’s face turns glaucous and grey and she’s flailing her hands toward the toilet beside her. She makes it in time to empty a bellyful of vodka into the porcelain. Maki can tell by the scent and the clarity of the liquid. That’s a _lot_ of liquor.

She has to admit though, the belching and coughing is kinda hard to hear. Instinctively without any thought behind it, Maki starts to yank up the hair that’s almost spilling over into the toilet. That’d be nasty to clean up. She can’t witness this girl making any _more_ of a mess of herself than she’s already done. One hand’s got a deathgrip on her unbrushed bleached roots and the other’s plugging her nose.

Once, twice, three times she barfs, and on the third she starts to laugh and rubs her cheek against the toilet seat.

“Now I remember…” she whispers, voice lifting like she’s found God. “I’m drunk.”

Maki’s hand moves to snatch the bridge of her nose.

“You are.”

The blond girl snatches the toilet paper roll, yanking it and spilling a fifth of the roll out into a pool on the floor. Wiping her mouth with the mangled mess of toiletry, making a small burp into her hand, she sighs. Maki can’t tell anything she’s thinking right now. All of a sudden she speaks up.

“Hey, you can let go of my hair now, tiny-tits.”

Not realizing she’d still had her hair in such a vice grip, she lets it go and takes a step back. She’s leaning up against the shower door now, observing the larger girl. She’s got some meat on her and isn’t so skeletal like Maki is. Her bosom is… blessed, and Maki can tell even from her lethargic toilet-worshiping pose that she’s much taller. In short- she doesn’t think she’d be able to carry this girl out of the bathroom without people raising an eyebrow. 

Maki doesn’t go out of her way to force people to perceive her as weak but she definitely doesn’t want anyone asking any questions about why she’s so damn strong and lithe. It’s better if she stays as lowkey as possible.

Still, she’s standing here and doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because she knows if she leaves this poor girl alone something… awful could happen to her. Men are scary. Men are _disgusting._ The fear of them doesn’t quite permeate her like it does to her classmate Tenko but she knows this is a party and she knows that people are drinking.

And more than anything else, girls are _incredible._

“Y… you’re really cute,” the blond stammers out, as if she’s whimpering; she is whimpering actually and Maki has no idea why. “Why’d you hold my hair and shit? That was so fuckin’ nice.”

_Because I’d feel morally responsible if you died on the floor here or a guy picked you up._

Forcing back her instinctual reply, Maki squints and averts her gaze.

“Because… when you see that someone needs help, you should help them,” she mutters, reiterating something that the astronaut idiot told her once when they’d met.

Biting back her quivering lip, the blond girl makes a move to stand up from the toilet.

“D-don’t think that you’re gonna get a super hot babe like me by acting all sweet.”

Well aware that this wasn’t her intention from the start, Maki adjusts her seifuku and sighs.

“I’m not interested in that.”

That flips a switch. The drunken girl’s demeanor changes. She’s upright now, legs chattering together and wiggling like worms. It’s a wonder she’s standing up straight at all.

“Hah? Not interested?”

She gives a _‘tch,’_ and straightens her legs out.

“You think just because you’re tiny and got no tits that you’re a better catch than me? Sorry all the boys like a big-titted beauty like me and only sweaty basement dwellers want some jailbait lookin’ ass.”

The thought occurs to Maki to just walk out and leave. Clearly helping her was a mistake. It’s not in her nature to tolerate being spoken to like this, and she’s not going to argue with some plastered girl in a stranger’s bathroom. There’s a million other things she’d rather be doing.

Everything is trumped by the lingering thought in her head, that she’s _really_ quite cute and she can’t leave her to her own devices. Also, she’s absolutely sauced. She’s probably nicer when not under the influence. Taking a deep breath in, Maki takes a few steps toward her. Instinctively, the blond skitters back against the wall and whimpers out low.

“Eeeek! D-don’t be mad at me for being honest.”

“What’s your name?” Maki asks, disregarding her nonsense entirely.

Sniffing back a line of snot that’s started to run down her reddened face, the girl introduces herself as, “Iruma Miu. Have… Haven’t you heard of me before?”

“No,” Maki denies curtly, picking up Miu’s hand like it’s some diseased thing between her thumb and forefinger and yanking toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Miu makes a high pitched whining sound, allowing Maki to lead her out of the bathroom and out toward the stairs. She slams into her back when Maki comes to a full stop in front of the first one.

“H-hey!”

Maki shifts her eyes carefully for anyone possibly watching. She cannot get this drunk girl down this flight of stairs. It’s not happening. Rotating on her heels, Maki doesn’t give Miu any context. In two seconds flat she’s kneeling down and hauling her up. Crying out in surprise, Miu now sits in Maki’s perfectly capable hands. She notices even in her drunken stupor… they’re not soft. They’re kinda rough. They have calluses in places she can’t fathom why and a few knicks and scars here and there that tell a story she’s _far_ too drunk to fucking ask about.

Needless to say, Miu gawks in awe as Maki carries her down the stairs. Everyone at the party is having their own time away from them. No one is paying attention, and yet… as the two of them descend the stairs, Miu imagines in the sanctity of her mind, a fairy tale ending, where the prince is carrying the princess down the stairs and everyone’s watching dutifully and clapping where appropriate. Miu wants everyone in this damn building to clap for her.

Like look! Holy shit! This cute girl is carrying her down the stairs like a prince!

Giggling aimlessly, Miu dawdles on this idea while Maki’s lofting a brow softly.

_Just what the fuck is she laughing at?_

At the bottom of the stairs, Maki swiftly learns that no one’s paying any attention and she makes a move for the door. No one will be the wiser if they see her carting this poor girl out. Maybe they’ll just think she’s stealing her away for a passionate night. Even that would be better than anyone learning her secret.

The closer she gets to the door though, the more and more Maki realizes she has nowhere to go from here. She needs to call her ride and find out where to take this girl. Shouting over the music, Maki says, “Where do you live?”

“O… on campus, in the dorms,” Miu says in a more subdued voice.

Her eyelids feel heavy and Maki can’t help but feel bad for her somewhere in her heart. Under the blaring of the party music, Maki can’t make out what Miu asks her. Asking again once they’re outside of the house, Miu slurs out a soft, “What’s your name?”

Oh, she hadn’t told her. It must’ve slipped Maki’s mind.

Stepping out into the street and propping Miu up against someone’s car (she really doesn’t give a shit who’s it is), Maki fishes her cell phone out and swiftly dials Shuichi’s number. It’s only the third number she has in her phone, the other two being Kaede and Kaito. Both of them are likely asleep by now. Shuichi’s the only one who knows she’s out here and volunteered repeatedly to come get her. She’ll have to thank him extra for it since his insistence keeps her from feeling like a bother about it.

Not that she’d ever let anyone know that she worries about shit like that.

“Harukawa.”

The phone picks up not even a second after the dial tone.

“Harukawa-san? Are you alright?”

The worrisome tone Shuichi gets with her sends her nerves on edge. She holds back a seething remark as she barks back into the phone, “You told me to call you when I needed to be picked up. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh, I’m thankful! Give me a second to drive back up there. It won’t take long!”

Maki nods (which he can’t see) and shuts her flip phone. Shuichi really hates it when she does that. She turns back toward Miu who’s busy nearly falling asleep on the trunk of the car. Tapping her in the cheek roughly, Maki purses her lips.

“Stay awake. I’m not peeling you off the road,” she fibs.

Miu’s eyes struggle to pop themselves back open. She’s leaning, leaning, further and _further-_

Gripping her by the shoulders, Maki effortlessly holds her upright and gives a stern shake. Miu’s head bobbles like a doll.

_“Iruma.”_

Groaning out softly, Miu prys her bleary eyes open and tries her damndest to focus them on Maki’s features- her piercing red eyes, long lashes, beauty mark- _damn this girl is fine._

When she perks her lips into a kiss, Maki regards the act strangely and holds her hand to block it. Miu cranes forward with the speed of a snail, her lips colliding almost too gently with the flesh of Maki’s palm. The assassin squints.

“What _are_ you doing?”

“M’tryna… kiss you,” she whines.

Maki shoves Miu’s head back a bit rougher than she means to, letting her neck snap back but promptly snatching the her collar. It keeps her from smashing into the rear window of the car. Whoever’s car it is. Maki still doesn’t care.

In doing this, Maki gets a much better view at Miu’s cleavage, having just tugged her collar out of place. Not that she wanted to. They sit exposed and pretty and Maki feels her pulse quicken knowing that she’s staring just a bit. Glancing back to Miu, the drunken girl’s feeding her the biggest set of goo goo eye’s the assassin’s ever seen, and she’s seen plenty. Mostly from little children, and Miu’s isn’t much different, except for when she’s yanking her hand away from her collar and into her waiting breast.

Miu whispers, enthusiastic and hot.

“You like whatcha see?”

Every hair on Maki’s body stands up on edge. The squishy… tissue in her hand is… she isn’t _trying_ to grope it. She tries to pull her hand away. Her fingers curl in to make a fist but end up…

“N-not so rough!! You l-like roughing up drunk girls!?”

“Let _go_ of my hand!!” Maki rumbles, fighting to wrangle her wrist out of Miu’s grip.

Once she’s done so, Miu’s wearing that look again- that one that says she’s about to start whining at her now. Squealing quietly, Miu yanks her hands back.

“Eeek! I-I was just kiddin’!! You ain’t do anything to me. I was doin’ it. I kinda like it.”

It’s a goddamn maze in her brain trying to understand Miu. Trying to level her blood pressure out (and trying very hard not to think about the titty that was just in her hand), Maki takes a deep breath in, her eyes staring daggers straight through Miu’s skull. The blond seizes up.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

“If you want me to take you home, you’ll stop touching me. Got it?”

Nodding her head enthusiastically, Miu whimpers in reply.

“I thought you were into girls,” she mutters, as if that has anything to do with why Maki didn’t want to suddenly broach her personal space like that.

Knowing she’ll never see this girl again, and knowing she probably won’t remember any of this anyways, Maki straightens her lip out in a slight pout.

“It’s not that,” she insists, playing with one pigtail she’s got resting over her shoulder. “I just… don’t do stuff like that with people I barely know.”

It doesn’t dawn on her until seconds after that Miu’s pegged her as being into girls for some reason. She’d like to ask but Miu’s already scooting closer to her, making the car bounce and laying that thick, sultry voice on again. Maki pretends it’s not hot, just like she pretends to be generally uninterested in anything she has to say.

“You could have me all night if you wanted, tiny-tits,” she beckons, unaware of how the addition at the end is doing everything to turn Maki off. “I don’t let just anyone take their turns with me.”

Maki adjusts her weight to the other leg.

“Forget about it. Even if I were interested, you’re drunk.”

Miu wears a quiet expression, and it looks sadder than any of the teary faces she’s pulled so far since they’ve met. At least, Maki thinks so. In the half an hour or so that she’s known her, Miu’s been boisterous and ridiculous, but never quiet. Dodging Maki’s gaze as if she can tell it’s prying, Miu hums.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Maki knows that people don’t think that way. People don’t naturally think that way at least. That sounds like someone who’s been conditioned. That sounds like someone who… was made to think that way.

Feeling the same pang of sympathy in her chest, the kind Maki pretends she doesn’t have for anyone, much less a drunk girl she’s just met at some party, she forces a roll of the eyes and snatches both her hands. They sit in hers, kinda sweaty even through her fingerless gloves. They reek of alcohol and a bit like vomit too. _God,_ this is actually disgusting, she tells herself, but for the gentle look in Miu’s crazy eyes, she thinks it might be worth it.

Squeezing her hands together, Maki says, “It does matter.”

The echoes of teen wailing and Gackt playing in the house go mum. The atmosphere turns gentler. Even Maki can sound serene, even when she’s convincing herself it’s impossible to do so. Miu looks intrigued, her hazy, liquor-sick eyes zeroing in on her’s.

“So… don’t say that,” Maki adds at the end, really hoping that she could’ve said more- given one of those important, uplifting speeches like _somebody_ she knows, but it doesn’t come out right.

Her mouth attempts to smile, wiggling into something that more closely resembles a curly parenthetical bracket. Maki gives up as soon as she tries, trying to frown but in a way that seems unoffensive. Miu nods, and her silence is confounding. Maki doesn’t know if she’s taking it to heart or… about to pass out.

As Miu continues to gently fall forward, Maki snatches her shoulders with a deep sigh.

About to pass out. Got it.

Remarking to herself that she probably was the nicest she’s ever been to a girl who won’t remember it, she scoffs. That’s fitting, Maki thinks. And Shuichi doesn’t ask too many questions about who the unconscious girl is when he pulls up to the house.

Smiling smugly about the prospect of Maki finally making new friends, or even _something else,_ he keeps his thoughts to himself the entire way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont ask why maki has a flip phone, its garakei (a galapagos phone).
> 
> also, why does maki have no idea who iruma is even tho they should be in the same class? idk. iruma doesnt go to class.


	13. Saimota | Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares  
> spoilers: end of chapter 1 trial
> 
> i wanted shuichi to be comforted

He stirs to the sound of whimpering. It happens every time in his sleep and he thinks that Shuichi does it on purpose- tries to muffle and hide the noises he makes, tries to not wake Kaito with his choking. Kaito finds him, hand fastened across his mouth like he’ll die if he dares make another sound, and a creeping cold threads itself through his lungs.

And like this, the string tightens so often and he turns over to slide a hand between Shuichi’s arm and side. His body turns taut at the temperature of Kaito’s hand, a distressingly comfortable warmth that he longs to lean into but… _can’t_.

“Hey, talk to me,” groans Kaito, voice hoarse and half asleep but prying all the same.

Shuichi’s limbs all coil inward further. Every sob shakes his ribcage. He dampens them with his hands. They must die. They can’t come out. He can’t worry him. He can’t worry _her_.

The shivering rouses Kaito further. He sits upright now, looming over the other boy. He takes Shuichi’s hand gently to prize it from his mouth. He presses it against his own, stamping the back of his palm with a sad kiss.

“Shuichi, please talk to me.”

It doesn’t matter how many times it happens, how many nights it happens, how frequent or often, how it’s remedied every time, there’s always the same weight, the same hurt, the same ache, every time-

“It’s my fault,” Shuichi says, his voice broken and sick, distorted by the tears in his throat, and the phlegm, and the guilt.

Kaito’s arms wrap around tight, enclosing Shuichi like a warden from his thoughts. Never does the detective feel more small and hapless than when he’s held like this. The astronaut’s voice is intense and at his ear, rapt but deep when he says, “I’m glad you’re alive.”

No matter how many times he tries to convince Shuichi it isn’t his fault, this thought lingers most of all.

“I’m glad _we’re_ alive. Akamatsu’s glad we’re alive.”

The detective’s throat clenches and his voice croaks out between the rocks therein.

“I killed her,” he cries, hiccuping back up every kind thing she’s ever said. “I can’t- I shouldn’t have-”

“She loved you. _Loves_ you,” Kaito corrects, sinking his nose into the back of Shuichi’s neck, nuzzling and tucking his body closer to his; it helps that Shuichi can’t tell he’s shaking too.

“Nobody blames you.”

In a weird way, Shuichi’s glad he only has these fits when Kaito’s partly asleep. When he’s lucid he has a way to carry on a bit loudly. Sometimes it helps to have the sense knocked into you. Sometimes it helps to have someone tell you that you’re being an idiot. Sometimes you just need someone to distract you.

Sometimes, you just want to be allowed to cry. It’s a blessing and a balm when he can do that- and Kaito won’t bug him about it in the morning.

Shuichi leans into the contact finally, his sniffling cured if only a bit by the mouth at his ear, whispering about constellations and about Mars to talk him down. All of these things Kaito's yet to see, he wants Shuichi to see them with him.

And like this, it's okay to be alive. Shuichi thinks maybe, it's okay to be alive.


	14. Saimota | Who'll See? [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Public Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot  
> spoilers: none
> 
> anyways u know the sidewalk that leads into the boiler room? they're doing this against the wall near the door there. i dont mention it bc this is such a small drabble and i couldnt find a place to randomly slot that info where it wouldnt feel weird so zzzz

Kaito murmurs something unintelligible against Shuichi’s skull, like a prayer. It sticks to the roof of his mouth until he can swallow it down- the sound of his name. It echoes as he tries to keep his knees from bending so, rocking up into Shuichi’s touch as he plays with the front of his pants. Shuichi slides his finger prudently up the ridges of his zipper, fondling through the fabric. He giggles. Every time Kaito makes the slightest jump up into his touch, Shuichi smiles. His lips stay glued to the side of Kaito’s neck, sucking in his health with every gasp and- that _strange_ noise Kaito makes when he’ll sink his teeth into his throat.

“S… Shuichi, w-we gotta move,” he sputters out.

His back arches against the wall, losing his resolve with every tantalizing kiss in the corner of his shoulder- the sensitivity where his neck and body meet. It’s so easy to let go, close his eyes and feign weakness to the touch of his skin. His coherent thoughts, somewhere far off and precariously dangling off the precipice of his own pleasure. Shuichi digs his ivories in hard and Kaito snatches his shirt, not pulling or yanking, but twisting the fabric up in his grasp, and _moaning_ like he’s all but forgotten completely where he is.

A deft hand sneaks his zipper down, smoothing his erection with an apologetic stroke and then a couple more. Shuichi’s timbre drops to a baritone unrecognizable.

“But you’re so hard already,” he reasons so frankly, his hand pumping so earnestly. “I don’t think you can last that long.”

Shuichi trails a swirl into Kaito’s neck with his tongue. Glancing down at the sight before him, Kaito trembles into Shuichi’s hands, almost wincing in embarrassment as the pre-cum lathers the detective’s hand. His breath hitches, mouth agape in a noise he can’t make, and Shuichi sighs adoringly into his ear.

“You always get so excited, Momota-kun.”


	15. Saimota | First Touches, Second Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Holding Hands  
> spoilers: none
> 
> i guess this has just become the saimota dump. thats fine. i love them and my biases are obvious.

“You’re right,” Shuichi says, his hand all but dwarfed by Kaito’s. “My hands are tiny compared to yours,” he laughs.

The two sit across from each other, the silk of Kaito’s galactic jacket tickling their ankles. It rests beneath their criss-crossed legs like a blanket in the grass. The wind freezes their fingers, but the warmth between them is white-hot.

Kaito’s fingers aren’t much longer but they are wider. His skin is darker. The pads of his palm are rougher. Shuichi feels like his skin were grafted from the petals of a flower. Turning his head to get a glimpse at what it looks like from the detective’s perspective, he notices the pink in his nails. Every cuticle looks perfectly kept. His nails though look like he bites them. Shuichi seems to frown, hoping he doesn’t say anything about that.

The pleasant press of Shuichi’s digits up against his is more than he was expecting. He fights to keep his hand still. Internally, he remarks to himself how delicate they are. They’re soft and gentle… in the same way a girl’s is. Tilting his head up, he takes a second gander at Shuichi and thinks that he’s actually looking at him for the first time now. The doe-eyed, sort of milquetoast stare sends a shiver through him.

The astronaut flushes and experimentally links their hands. Each finger slots between one another. Even Shuichi now makes a gentle gasp, and Kaito can’t pretend anymore that what they’re doing isn’t weird, coughing out a, “W-what, is this weird?”

Lifting his free hand, Shuichi gestures in warm surrender.

“N-no, it’s not weird, Momota-kun. It’s… kinda nice.”

Both of their eyes have floated back down, marveling at the way their hearts bounce excitedly. Their fingers look made to mingle.

And the second time Kaito’s glancing up at Shuichi, he’s swallowing down saliva and every thought he’s having.

He really shouldn’t want to kiss his best friend.

Maybe just once.

Maybe just twice.


	16. Oumota | Afterword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Afterlife, Holding Hands, Possibly Unrequited Love  
> spoilers: End of Chapter 5
> 
> they discuss the various, feelings they had before, dying. i leave it pretty open ended and up to interpretation how they both feel.

“Did it hurt?” is the first thing he thinks to ask.

Kokichi blinks, stirring his rice around with a tiny plastic fork.

“Haah? That’s all you have to say to me, Momota-chan?”

“It’s an important fuckin’ question! Don’t gimme that,” he cusses.

Gazing back down at his rice, ignoring the intrusive thought at the back of his head telling him they look more like maggots, the supreme leader sighs out disdainfully. This conversation is boring him already and Kaito’s only been dead for, what? Five minutes? Such tedium, responding to someone who at best can _pretend_ to care about what even happened to him.

But, he’ll give him what he wants to hear.

“No, it didn’t.”

This isn’t a placating answer. The astronaut tugs at his empty sleeve, pulling it in as though he’s grabbing ahold of some part of himself he can’t yet reach. He frowns inwardly.

“I didn’t kill you, did I?”

Kokichi smiles. Rice sticks to his lips.

“What gave you that idea?”

Kaito winces.

“I know how hydraulic presses work, dumbass. They don’t just… slam down. They apply a constant, steady pressure.”

The other boy seems much more invested in his… lunch? Breakfast?

“If nothing else, your feet would’ve been…” he trails off. “You would’ve been in plenty of pain before you died. You wouldn’t have died instantly.”

He doesn’t bother to wipe his face before bringing his carton of strawberry milk to his face. The straw is striped pink and white. He squeezes the paper until its folding in on itself.

“You would’ve screamed, Ouma. You didn’t scream.”

“Isn’t that better for you?” Kokichi insists. “You would’ve felt _sooooo_ much guilt otherwise.”

Kaito’s face is pained. He stares with a certain measure of guilt that Kokichi can’t quite decipher in the two or so times he steals a glance at him. Small spiders crawl around his brain, biting at all the parts that activate emotional response if only to admit that even in death, he finds it hard to truly be honest.

Why that would just, make Heaven so impeccably boring, wouldn’t it?

“This can’t be Heaven, can it?” Kokichi asks in the silence in between.

“I couldn’t stop her after all,” Kaito murmurs, and Kokichi drops his milk carton with an unceremonious huff.

“Nope! You couldn't. She killed again. She _was_ an assassin, you know. She’s better at this murdering business than you could _ever_ be, Momota-chan.”

Kaito is unresponsive to these provocations. One hand is rested firmly beneath his jaw and his eyes are focused on the cherry blossoms beside their lunch table. Scowling a bit and slapping his hands together, Kokichi fronts with a, “That’s fine, we should both wipe our hands of this whole thing- of that killing game and of those people. We’re all that we’ve got now, Momota-chan.”

“Hn,” the trainee hums.

Kokichi’s face turns placid. His eyes scan the other man’s carefully, ice solidifying in his veins as he says, “I wasn’t really expecting you to feel guilt over _not_ killing me. You’re surprisingly cold.”

He blinks once, and then gazes back at Kokichi who is now doing the same thing, averting his eyes and resting his jaw in his palm. Kaito feels a slight chill run up his spine, shivers at his own indifference and turns to face Kokichi completely once more.

“Sorry about that,” he says, the implications setting in.

Shouldn’t he be glad that Kokichi didn’t have to suffer that terrible fate? If nothing else, nothing’s truly changed. Monokuma still ruled that Kaito had killed him. Maki survived thinking that Kaito had killed him. Truly, wouldn’t she have felt worse thinking that Kaito took the fall for something she’d done? In some ways, maybe she does, knowing that her actions forced their hands. There was only one antidote. No matter what happened, one of them would have to die.

Shouldn’t he be glad that when the press came down, no sound came out of the other boy? That made their video believable. Perhaps if the screaming had rung throughout the Exisal Hangar, anyone listening could’ve made the connection over whose voice it was. Kokichi’s is decidedly higher than his own. Their plan would’ve come apart.

Shouldn’t he? He should. Admittedly it… _is_ a bit harsh to tell a guy to his face that he wishes he could’ve been the one to kill him. Kaito searches for Kokichi’s eyes, waiting for him to turn his attention back toward him but he never does. The silence stretches on for what feels like forever before Kaito turns away once more, talking more to the tree than to Kokichi.

“I don’t think this is Heaven, either. I don’t think either of us belong there.”

Kokichi twists his plastic fork around in his fingers, licking the food residue off.

“Maybe you don’t. In the end, you never killed anybody,” he jabs back.

“Alright, fuck, I’m sorry for saying that. Are you going to dig it in every day for however long we’re here for?”

“Hm, maybe! Depends on how long it pisses me off for.”

Kaito glares, analyzing him a while before he makes a hollow smile.

“You’re being surprisingly honest.”

Shrugging, the supreme leader picks up his lunch tray and dumps it on the ground beside him. All the rice and vegetables splat into the concrete in an undignified heap. He drops the tray along with it. It slaps over top of the mess. Kaito raises a thick eyebrow.

“What’d you do that for?”

“I’unno. To see if I could.”

Kaito is just as curious as Kokichi is, to be honest, unsure about where they are or what they can do here. This must be purgatory, huh? Kaito points a finger.

“So, let’s play twenty questions.”

“Huh?” Kokichi questions. “Why?”

“We don’t have shit else to do, yeah? And we’re dead. No reason to lie about anything now, right? It’s all over.”

There’s a sort of sadness evident in Kaito’s eyes. Kokichi had always been good at reading people but terrible at knowing what to do about it exactly. Even if he knew someone were suffering, it’s not like he knew what words to say, not unless he were lying. He didn’t think that anything about his genuine self could be palatable to other people, much less what his genuine self was.

Kokichi shrugs, facing forward toward Kaito with a dim smile.

“Alright then, Momota-chan. Let’s make it a game. Who can be the most honest?”

“Hey now, don't make this into a competition. I’m honest for a living!”

Waving away his words, Kokichi rolls his eyes, awaiting Kaito to make the first question.

“That being said… um… w-whats your favorite, drink?” he asks.

“Soda. Okay so- did you have a crush on _Harumaki-chan?”_

Kaito’s face lights up, grimacing at his quick answer, and even quicker subject change.

“Oi, Ouma, you can’t just cut to the chase like that! You have to build up to those, hard questions.”

“That’s boring, Momota-chan. You’re boring me. I didn’t die so you could ask me what kind of drinks I like,” he groans, kicking the tray on the ground aside as he rocks his feet back and forth, getting rice everywhere.

Frowning inwardly, Kaito figures he can’t turn back now. He pulls at his goatee some in thought, absent-mindedly staring down at his hand as he feels a hair fall into his fingers.

“I mean- you love all your friends in different ways, don’t ya?”

“I don’t know, Momota-chan. I’m not you, after all. And that doesn’t answer my question.”

Kaito rests his fists down on the table, finding it shockingly difficult to stare the other boy in the eyes.

“I-”

“You don’t want to admit that you didn’t,” Kokichi says with a grin. “You can be honest. We’re both dead now. She’s going to move on from you one day, Momota-chan, and you will too, being here. You can admit-”

“It’s hard to think about,” Kaito confesses. “It’d be a hell of a lot easier to admit that I didn’t love her like that but I really… don’t know,” he says real slow, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling meek.

Kokichi looks disgusted.

“Eh? Really? Something tells me you never even considered the idea until she sprung it on you all theatrically at the end. After all, weren’t you and Saihara-chan all…”

He wiggles one hand in the air in some non-committal hand gesture that Kaito can’t decipher.

“All what?”

The smaller boy groans.

“Weren’t you guys-”

“Hold on, its _my_ turn to ask a question,” Kaito insists, pointing a finger inches away from Kokichi’s forehead. “You had a crush on Shuichi, didn’t you?”

The silence that stretches on between them weighs heavy on Kaito’s mind. Kokichi’s face is completely unreadable, blank and blanched. He smacks his tongue against his teeth with a squeak.

“What gave you that impression?”

“I knew it,” the astronaut says with triumph. “It was so obvious, from the way you tried to split us apart, to the way that you-”

“Momota-chaaaaan, this is boring me,” Kokichi interrupts, wiping the stilted grin off of Kaito’s face. “Telling the truth is so lame, especially when I’m talking to someone as _dumb_ and _stupid_ as you.”

Kaito crosses his arms, straightening up his back. Kokichi remarks silently to himself that he looks better when he’s upright and not all hunched over.

“So you admit that I win this competition?”

“Win? _I’m_ sorry, which one of us has successfully answered any fucking questions here? Because it hasn’t been you,” Kokichi spits.

“Then ask me something else! I won’t lie! I wasn’t lying earlier about Harumaki either!”

Kokichi leans forward on the bench, pointing across the table.

“Alright then, Momota Kaito-chan! Did you or did you not have feelings for Saihara Shuichi-chan!?”

Craning his neck away from Kokichi, the astronaut trainee flounders for words, slipping on his own tongue like it doesn’t belong in his mouth.

“Th-thats…! Y-y’know, everyone loves their friends, just in different ways!”

“Ah ah ah,” Kokichi tuts. “You have to answer this one, especially because I already know the truth. This is just a test of how honest you can actually be.”

The grin that stretches across Kokichi’s face is the one Kaito remembers most fondly. That sounds weird to say but… since he woke up here, there’s been a strange dissonance in the way Kokichi’s been acting. They both seem a bit different, really. It probably has something to do with dying. If dying didn’t change you, what would be the point?

Kaito’s cheeks burn and he tightens his arms around one another.

“W-well… I… I didn’t think that I could feel that way about Shuichi, or about anyone in that situation.”

Kokichi turns his eyebrows up, smiling with a sad sort of satisfaction.

“But you did, huh?”

The taller man’s laughter curls out of him with less enthusiasm than he’s known for. His palms sweat. He doesn’t feel like he can say it, but he does.

“Yeah.”

He closes his eyes suddenly, resting his wrists back down upon the bench table.

“You can go ahead and give me shit for it. That’s what you wanna do, right?”

Scoffing, the supreme leader slaps his hand over top of Kaito’s, avoiding looking him in the eyes when he glances up at the gesture.

“He would’ve loved you back at least.”

Kaito squints and furrows his brows, confounded by the combination of his actions, his words, and his distant stare. Is he… trying to comfort him? Is he, upset?

Probably a little of both.

Experimentally, Kaito nudges his fingers against Kokichi’s, allowing his larger ones to slide through. They sit over top of one another now in a lazy bundle. The supreme leader doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Do you hate me?” Kaito asks.

A silence drapes over them both again and he follows up with, “This is part of the game. Do you hate me, Ouma?”

Kokichi sighs and kneads his fingers into the back of Kaito’s palm, squeezing their fingers together and deepening the contact. He looks as though he’s moments from falling asleep.

“I hate you _so_ much, Momota-chan. I’ve never hated anyone more than you. In fact, if I could spend all of eternity with someone else who _isn’t_ you, I gladly would. The last thing I want to do is wake up every morning staring at your piss-ugly face.”

Every biting insult is accompanied by a fond, brush of his thumb against the back and side of Kaito’s hand. The astronaut doesn’t speak, but an anger nevertheless never touches his heart again. Instead he observes their hands, all of Kokichi’s words entering in one ear and falling out of the other. Kaito chews on his cheek some, mulling thoughts over as Kokichi finally gazes back into his eyes.

“I hate telling the truth, Momota-chan. Isn’t it just so, predictably boring?”

He bats his eyelashes in a shitty way that lacks any notion of charm, Kaito thinks. He squeezes the hand in his own back, feeling kinda sad for no reason.

“Sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're in some... purgatory-esque place. its just a school courtyard with a cherry blossom tree. nothing spectacular. could be anywhere. could be a dream. shrug.


	17. Tenmaki | Soft Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Shopping, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa)  
> spoilers: End of chapter 2 + Maki's backstory
> 
> happy birthday!!! i wrote this for my friend who is the maki to my kaito, who Loves maki/tenko!! im still getting used to writing them but i hope to shower u in their content soon
> 
> i like how tenko in the original jpn uses third person/childish speech so i kept that when writing for her.

Something you wouldn’t notice unless you’re spending the whole day with her is how much pride Tenko takes in being feminine. Of course, Maki knows well her loath of men, but it’s only after watching the girl try on a thousand different pairs of floral patterned skirts and scarves that it really becomes apparent. In hindsight, shouldn’t Maki have been able to discern this from Tenko’s daily accessories of choice?

The necklace she wears, a soft silver bell that jingled so faintly Maki’s convinced she’s imagining things. Her hair, decorated in not a single white ribbon but two, and she only plucks the tea green butterfly bow from her hair when trying on new colors. Each one a different pattern. If that wasn’t enough, Maki doesn’t even see why she has that lavender headband. It holds no hair back and it sits pretty useless on her head. Is it there just to look cute?

Granted, Maki figures she could say that about the bow too. It too serves no purpose. Neither does jewelry. She’d been taught to cherish only the essentials and for the most part she still holds that opinion. The accessories that she wore now…

“Tenko’s ready, once again!” the martial artist yells from behind the dressing room curtain.

Maki, who’d been steadily flipping through her phone, ignoring Kaede’s text messages asking if she were on a date, barely stares up from her lap as she sighs.

“We’re getting food after this outfit,” Maki insists, not really hungry but knowing that it’s a good excuse to make Tenko finally sit down for five seconds; the girl never needs to recharge her batteries, it seems.

“Hih! Hip! Haiyah!”

Aikido chopping out of the curtain, nearly ripping it clear off of the rod it hung on, Tenko comes out once more. Maki blinks her eyes slow, careful to scan every inch of her with the same level of enthusiasm she had ten minutes ago- which is to say not much at all. Stood in what Maki assumes is a battle stance for a martial art she doesn’t know, Tenko appears to be clad in… what she walked in with. Maki closes her phone. The little moon charm Kaito bought for her jingles.

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh! What Tenko changed is her shoes!”

Dragging her irises down the center of her body, remarking that Tenko really did have some really nice legs to herself, she focuses on the sandals. They're pink.

“Oh,” Maki says and Tenko wiggles her clothed toes to-and-fro.

“Yes! Tenko thinks they add flair!” she shouts before changing her pose, giving an imaginary foe a chop across the chest. “They’re also very practical and fit almost the same as Tenko’s old ones do!”

“So, are you going to get them?” the caregiver asks.

Tenko grins, and Maki thinks that her teeth are the whitest thing that she’s probably ever seen.

“Maybe! What about you, though? How about, Tenko gets these sandals if Harukawa-san picks something out!”

Breathing in deeply, Maki stands up beside her, grabbing her black backpack and stuffing her scratched up grey flip phone inside of it.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not buying any clothes today?”

Maki pays no mind as Tenko seems to collect all of the accessories she had been allowed to pile up inside of the dressing room, completely unaware of what the other girl had planned. As Maki zips her backpack up, Tenko slips behind her and snakes a line of fabric around her neck. The assassin goes still, every instinct in her body screaming at her for what is, for Tenko at least, the most innocent motion. What could be a rival spy wrapping a cord around her throat and smothering her, was just her friend tying a bell about her throat.

Tenko seems to notice the way that Maki’s tensed up and takes a step back.

“Th-there! Look in the mirror!”

“Ch… Chabashira,” Maki coughs out, dropping her scuffed up backpack long enough for her to wring the other girls neck; she doesn’t however.

Taking a few cautious steps toward the dressing room, as if she’s going to hate what she sees when she steps inside, Maki approaches the mirror. She stands before it strangely, suddenly feeling as though she’s being watched. What does she do with her hands? She grips them into fists as she spots the choker tied around her neck. A small red bell hangs loose from it, similar to Tenko’s own. The choker is much stringier though. Is this fashionable? Looking like you’re wearing a Christmas bell hanging off of a shoelace? Maki wouldn’t know anyways.

The taller girl (if only by one inch) crowds behind Maki, grinning over her shoulder in the mirror as she points emphatically.

“You look so cool with that choker, Harukawa-san! Tenko thinks you should get it!”

Carefully, Maki pulls her left pigtail behind her. She gathers all of her hair over her right shoulder and gets a look at her neck and how it looks with a necklace. She’s never worn one, or if she has she doesn’t remember it. She thinks that she can physically feel her expression softening. The far-off stare she’s offering the accessory captures her eye in the mirror. Maki purses her lips in a pout and moves to take it off.

“I don’t need it.”

Maki’s finger gets as far as slipping beneath the string and between her skin when Tenko captures her wrist.

“Harukawa-san,” she blurts, loudly- louder than she means to. “Do you know why Tenko invited you out today?”

“So you could try on clothes,” says Maki.

“So _you_ could try on clothes,” says Tenko.

Ever the effervescent one, Tenko takes both of Maki’s shoulders into her hands and turns her face-to-face. Maki can still see her reflection in her peripherals, hard for her to stare at unless she’s not supposed to, and then it’s constantly lingering in her sight. Tenko’s look of solemn resolve melts into a smile so warm and bright, it should be easy enough for Maki to look back at, but it’s too much like the sun- too dazzling to stare at directly.

“Tenko doesn’t really need anything new right now. R-really, unless all of my clothes are dirty or worn, Tenko really isn’t the type of girl to go shopping! Ehehe… master actually said it will affect my training if Tenko overspends on things Tenko doesn’t need anyways…”

She blushes some, biting her lip as she averts her eyes.

“Tenko… really thought Harukawa-san would like some things to express herself more! S-so…” Tenko trails off, giving a bubbly giggle as she squeezes her shoulders tight. “So you don’t have to hold yourself back! Get whatever it is that will make you happy! All cute girls deserve to wear cute bows and necklaces!”

The physical contact is almost overwhelming. Normally when _that_ idiot is trying to get all huggy with her, she can punch him in the gut. Maki doesn’t know how she’d feel about punching Tenko in the gut though. There’s a radiant glow in her that makes Maki feel humbled and cherished. Of all the people to want to invite out, Tenko really did pick the least likely candidate to be a good time, or at least Maki thinks so.

She frowns some, leaving the necklace alone for now but feeling as though she needs to give Tenko a proper answer. Maki ruminates on it a bit before staring at her clothes in the mirror. Her rose brooch catches her eye.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve ever bought anything for myself.”

“Really?” Tenko asks.

“Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to have flashy toys or clothes. Simple jean shorts and a tank top were enough. I held my hair back with rubber bands. They were nice enough to let me keep it in pigtails. I wanted to wear what the other girls my age could wear- the bows and hairpins… but by the time I entered a public high school and was told I could have them, I didn’t know what to want anymore.”

Maki rubs her arm absently, dodging Tenko’s eyes expertly.

“I picked these out because I had to.”

“You had to?” Tenko asks again, subtly confused as Maki gestures to her hairpin and her plain black bracelet.

“I had to look normal- like a normal high school girl. They said I’d stand out more by not standing out at all.”

Tenko examined Maki’s outfit once more, taking in her appearance while keeping in mind all that she’d been told now. Grimacing some, her mouth sitting lopsided on her face, Tenko’s hands floated down to Maki’s elbows in a looser grip.

“Your parents sound very strict,” she deduces, and Maki blanches, realizing that she’s went and said a whole lot on accident; luckily, it seems Tenko has the wrong idea.

“Y-yeah,” Maki follows up with, uncharacteristically nervous for a small moment before her poker face reprises. “My… parents, didn’t want me to get singled out by other kids. In hindsight, I think it was strange of them to deprive me of something most kids get very early- the ability to express yourself in your clothes only to tell me later that I needed to pick out something. Thanks to that… I don’t really know what I like.”

Maki soon finds her voice sounds more elegiac than she wants to. Narrowing her eyes and glancing back at the martial artist, Maki hardens her façade once more.

“Even now, you picked out this necklace for me. If I buy this, it’s not because I like it.”

Nodding her head (which worries Maki for some reason), Tenko makes a sound of acknowledgement in her throat. Her smile looks strong and sure.

“Tenko understands. Tenko’s family too was strict on how they wanted Tenko to act, but… Maybe Harukawa-san could learn to find herself now that she’s allowed to,” she suggests. “And you don’t have to buy this necklace! Tenko just thought it matched the color of your eyes, eheh! Maybe Harukawa-san can give it a second thought. We have all day to find something that you’ll like!”

A soft squeaking noise twists through the air, transforming into a boundless roar that shocks them both. Maki and Tenko nearly knock heads, glancing down between them. Tenko gasps with a jump.

“T-that is… ! That is-”

“Geez, if you were that hungry we could’ve been to the food court by now,” Maki chides.

Tenko’s cheeks turn a bright mauve.

“Tenko isn’t hungry! What you just heard was the monster Tenko keeps in her belly!”

“If that’s what we’re calling it.”

“Y-yes! Yes! Now, let’s find the nearest beef bowl shop,” she cries, gathering up all of the clothes she’d taken into the dressing room and marching back out.

Maki pouts some, pulling at the scarf of her seifuku with a huff.

“Idiot,” she remarks, fishing around her backpack for her beige wallet, yanking out the few yen or so she needs for this bell sitting pretty around her throat now.

She wasn’t planning on buying it but for the smile she sees on Tenko’s face when next she catches up to her, it’s worth it. Maki sighs to herself. It’s not like she bought it for _her_ or anything.

As it turns out, she does like its faint jingle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has commented thus far and has given me requests!! i am going to do them soon!! my friend got priority because its their birthday P:


	18. Saimota | Me Too [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: First Time, Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuichi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering  
> spoilers: none
> 
> i have a whole list of fics im working on (the ppl who requested stuff are deffos gonna get theirs!! i always keep a promise) but did this as a warm up. i wanted soft, tender n warm smut with lots of comfort at the end- esp for momota. he just wants to know hes doin a good job.

Kaito's fingers delve gently, experimentally, searching for the pad of pleasure Shuichi's talked so much of. The prints of his fingers press into a ridged plump of flesh. The walls around him clench. Shuichi jolts, his breath quickens- and Kaito's staring wide eyed, absorbed and dry-mouthed.

“Was... Was that it?” he asks, the sight of his boyfriend sprawled out against his clinically white bed sheets, leaking a small puddle beneath him leaving him spellbound.

“U-uh-huh,” Shuichi forces out, equal parts anxious and excited.

Tensely, the cosmonaut digs his digits in deep, massaging a rhythm into the boy's body, staying his grip as his thumb inches up into the clit. It's just as he was told. Maybe he’s a bit more heavy handed than Shuichi had thought he’d be, but that's a good thing really. It's so different, feeling someone else's hands on him in the way he'd never been able to be. His back quirks to the side, curling in pleasure and all the butterflies in his belly come to congregate in his brain. It's not long before the first few cutting gasps of breath fall out.

Like clockwork, Shuichi snatches Kaito's arm by the wrist and says, “don't stop.”

He stiffens his grip, speaking tersely- “I won't.”

Fingers thrumming now in a more purposeful motion, burrowing in and out, stopping every so often to knead into that little button, Kaito learns the disciplines of Shuichi's body- making the other boy shake and grip him tighter. Every word on his lips, a revenant of Kaito's name. He thumbs the clit with a trembling satisfaction. Feeling his own arousal well up inside him, Kaito leans his mouth down to take a slice of neck into his mouth, suckling warmly. Shuichi whines so divinely. He loses his hands in Kaito's brambly hair, losing a few breaths he might never get back.

Kaito seasons every inch of his throat in kisses, wet and heavy. He whispers, “I love you so much,” and Shuichi turns to meet the boy's lips with his own.

The kiss is open mouthed, messy and abrupt. Kaito says again, “I love you, thank you for trusting me with this.”

Shuichi's eyes shut tight, something in his throat blooming not into a moan but a cry. His hips lurch into Kaito's palm. Kaito's still untouched, and his breath is heavy on Shuichi's mouth. He's panting too. He's enjoying this too. Shuichi sighs out happily, arching his back with a selfish instinct as nails drag pink lines into Kaito’s shoulder.

“D-do you like this?” Shuichi asks, thinking it came out dirtier than he was expecting.

“I do,” says Kaito unflinchingly. “I love it- I love you.”

Every time he says it, an unknowable feeling curls in Shuichi’s gut and he feels like it’s become just a little bit harder for him to breathe. But it’s so good. It wriggles its way into his core, feeding some dormant part of his ego that’s gone neglected.

Oh, how good it feels to feel sexy, and wanted- like your body isn’t wrong at all, in fact. It’s just right. 

He can’t stop himself anymore from losing his flow with Kaito’s hand, bucking and jerking his pelvis into his touch as his bliss climbs higher and higher through his stomach. As Shuichi clings tight to him and wraps his legs around, Kaito maintains his grip. His own arousal is hard to ignore now- dick throbbing through the fabric of his pants. Recognizing the urgency, in his voice and in his hands, Kaito fucks him faster. His wrist whines at him a little.

“M-momota-kun--”

He opens his mouth to ask Shuichi if he’s close, cut off by the shivering mess of a sob that quakes out of him. Shuichi cums hard, every muscle in his pelvis delighting as it squeezes and releases around Kaito. Burying his face into the crook of Shuichi’s neck, Kaito gladly listens to his boyfriend coming down, slowing his hand gradually as he rides the feeling out. Sweat glues them both together.

Kaito doesn’t know how long it takes before Shuichi’s body untenses completely. It feels like forever that they’re nestled close and tight. Shuichi’s breath is uneven and he seems almost afraid to let go. It’s not until all the strength has left his body that Shuichi lets his legs come apart, sliding from around Kaito’s waist and leaving him open. The two of them go impeccably still, save for their bounding lungs.

Giving a small peck just beneath Shuichi’s ear, Kaito asks, “was that good?”

Still catching his breath, Shuichi nods. One arm has raised up to rest over top of his face. Kaito sits up some, unsticking parts of his body from Shuichi’s and spies a wet spot permeating through the pillow beneath his head. He laughs.

“Did you drool on my pillow, Shuichi?”

Without thinking, he plucks the boy’s arm from his face and spots puffy eyes and a quivered lip. Kaito pales. He pulls his hand up at once.

“Shit, are you okay? What’d I do wrong?”

Guilt twists between his ribs.

“I’m sorry- fuck. I should’ve-”

“Momota-kun, it’s fine.”

Kaito blinks slow, frowning as he absentmindedly wraps the bedsheet around his dirtied hand. Shuichi’s smiling back at him, eyebrows knitted in an expression Kaito isn’t fluent in. Shuichi smears a few stray tears out of his eyes.

“I’m just… really happy ‘s’all,” he explains, and Kaito’s own chest expands with the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

They kiss again, this time Kaito holding the other boy’s face so firmly Shuichi almost wants to remind him that he’s not going anywhere. Kaito’s always so warm, but now he feels white-hot, like the entire universe is kissing him too.

The space trainee gasps for breath, resting his forehead flush against the other boy’s as he shivers too.

“I’m happy too. I’m so happy. I’m so happy you… wanted this- wanted me.”

Shuichi’s arms curl tiredly around Kaito’s neck.

“Kaito,” he says, the intimacy not lost on the other boy whose face flushes darker. “I always want you.”

He maneuvers to his side, taking the empty spot beside Shuichi and pulling their bodies close. Kaito’s face finds its usual spot when they sleep, slotted perfectly beneath his collarbone and above his breast. He sounds somewhat smaller when he says, “could you say that again?”

The other boy laughs, holding Kaito’s head against him.

“I always want you,” he repeats, pausing some as he takes notice of Kaito’s meeker disposition.

So he says again, quieter too this time, “I will always want you. You’re good to me.”

Kaito feels goosebumps, pleasant but scary. Shuichi traces a heart into Kaito’s neck with a damp finger.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m really happy too,” he insists, and Shuichi thinks the feelings are similar to his own, so he smiles.

“You can cry too, if you want. If you’re happy.”

Kaito’s mum, and Shuichi thinks it’s the last he’ll hear of it before he mumbles a soft, “I might,” and Shuichi curls up against him softly.

“That’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't think too hard about kaito being decent at sex on his first go. its all blind luck.
> 
> i saw a critique of trans saihara fics once, where ppl think hes only trans so that Big Dick Kaito Momota Can Put It In. so me, being trans, wanted to write a fic where that wasnt the case i guess? trans saihara is a hc that means a lot to me, being trans myself. it was after seeing another user write trans saihara in a very sweet way that i got the courage to write it myself.
> 
> i plan on writing a trans kaito fic some time soon. i wanna explore how his toxic masculinity could definitely manifest as the result of being a trans guy and give him some comfort and cute dates. idk im rambling now but !! soon


	19. Irumatsu | Back to Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Day At The Beach, Established Relationship, Double Dating  
> spoilers: none!
> 
> this was requested by kathoo !! who comments a lot on my writing!! i don't think what i wrote is quite *exactly* what you wanted. i think you may have wanted fluffier but here's hoping you like it!! from irumas fte's with saihara i like to headcanon her as having a fair bit of delusions, anxiety, or mental illness but i dont like to shy away from it or play it for laughs like kodaka does.
> 
> oh, and its tenmaki double date!

Sometime in between losing at volleyball and Maki burying Tenko in the sand, Kaede’s noticed that Miu has somehow gone missing.

In reality, she should have noticed the buoyant blond’s absence a lot sooner. Her voice made up half of their screaming. Tenko naturally was the other half. Only her neck is visible now as Maki smooths the ground all around her, patting it down and getting ready for what’s about to the _best_ sandcastle. Tenko yells with excitement.

“Maki-chan!! Be sure to take a picture before the tide comes in!”

“I can’t do anything about the tide,” Maki replies plainly.

“You can’t let it drown Tenko!!”

Maki is chuckling some, her face a variation of her typical deadpan. It’s pretty flat but with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. She pecks her girlfriend on the top of her head warmly as she fishes through her pocket for her phone. An air-light white jacket hangs over her shoulders, unzipped, and her bikini is small, stringy but doesn’t show a whole lot. Raising up to her feet, almost stepping on her hair (a more common occurrence than you’d think), the caregiver steps back and lets her camera focus on Tenko’s wide grin. It contorts to horror as the tide approaches her face once again.

“N-no! Nooo!! Maki-chan, Akamatsu-san, h-help!! Begone waves!”

Smirking silently, the brunette catches two photos- one of Tenko’s shimmering smile, the other of the _funniest_ face she’s ever seen her make.

Kaede’s mostly quiet, smiling at the sight of her two friends before resuming her search. She doesn’t panic just yet but her eyes scan the shoreline, hoping to find her missing girlfriend roaming about. Her vision isn’t perfect, but she thinks she spies the blond clad in her pink and black bikini off in the distance meandering by a group of rocks. The pianist huffs to herself at not approaching her sooner, resolving to make it up to the girl once she finds out what’s wrong.

The other two girls beside her are bickering now on the best castle to have surrounding Tenko’s head. Kaede interrupts them with a louder than needed “Um!”

They both stare up, alert.

“I’m… gonna go check on Miu. She’s been gone a long time.”

As if fearful that she was going to bother them, Kaede untenses the moment Tenko smiles and nods right back.

“Yes! Please make sure she’s okay!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” Maki says, and Kaede tries to ignore how cold that sounds, knowing she probably didn’t mean it all that harshly.

Kaede knows that sometimes Miu needs some space and as clingy as she can be, she needs people to come to her sometimes. Most of the time actually. Almost all of their time getting to know each other was Kaede seeking _her_ out and Miu being… strangely confused at why Kaede wanted to see her. If nothing else, Kaede had begun to ask herself that question after a bit. Miu could be… _abrasive._ She wonders if it was masochism or something of a savior complex that kept her chasing after the other girl, asking her out to the movies or to lunch whenever possible.

She supposes it doesn’t really matter. The two of them had coalesced into quite the pair. When possible, Kaede tries to keep up with the other girl. Marching off in a straight line toward Miu, she tries to think of what the problem could be this time.

As if sensing her presence, Miu steals a glance across her shoulder before tensing up. Her whole body shakes as if struck by lightning, and she clenches her fists and begins walking back. Miu gets halfway to Kaede before stopping in her tracks and shouting.

“W-what are you doing over here!? Don’t you know how to l-leave somebody alone, Bakamatsu!?”

Even though they've been dating for a few months now, that nickname still flies from Miu’s mouth like a bat out of hell. Scowling some, Kaede tries not to hold it against the other girl, knowing Miu really doesn't mean all of the foul language she spews. 

“I’m checking up on you. You just walked off without telling anyone! I was worried about you,” Kaede says.

Miu winces.

“H-huh?”

Then she snarls, curling a thread of her sea breeze swept hair around her finger and tugging.

“Worried about me!? Do you think I’m some fuckhead that’s gonna get eaten by a shark or some shit? I’m Iruma Miu, gorgeous girl _genius,_ not some baby who needs looking after!”

Used to this song and dance, Kaede ignores Miu’s harping and continues straight toward her. Miu shuts up quick and flinches back from her.

“Heeeek! Wh-what are you so persistent f-”

Kaede takes Miu by the hand sharply, her eyes sharp and determined.

“Did you get scared again?” she asks, and her voice is just as smooth and gentle as piano keys, and Miu forgets to put a little more bite back in her voice when she says, “maybe? So what?”

“You don’t have to be so paranoid. We’re all your friends,” Kaede says in a smile that only fades slightly with the knowing that Miu thinks herself different. “I know you get those thoughts, where you get to thinking you’re… not like other people, but I promise everyone here genuinely likes you.”

Miu pulls her hand back and Kaede’s entire arm travels with it. The pianist doesn’t let go. Miu’s face bubbles into more pink and the warm sand beneath her feet feels hotter.

“N-n-no way! Of course, I know that people like me! P-people _love_ me!!” she fibs, like she’s prone to do and like Kaede knows she does.

Hidden in those aquamarine eyes is a fear that’s almost constantly on show that most can’t decipher. Kaede hadn’t known how to handle it for weeks. It’s hard to get into that mind of hers. It’s wild and untamable and it breathes life into so many of her mechanical marvels. Still… she wants to talk to people, and can’t. Kaede knows this. She has so much fun even bickering a bit but why is it that she can’t get along like normal?

Kaede’s still learning, but it’s something she wants to. Because you work with the person you love. Thinking back to the first time that they’d ever been to this beach, she feels like despite her misgivings, they’ve come a long way.

Yanking both of their hands back, Kaede squeezes her’s tight.

“...for more than just your brains, I mean. People like you for more than the things you create. Like… when you’re funny!”

She’s smiling earnestly but Miu sort of fixes her with a blank stare, as if trying to gauge what the hidden meaning could be. And then she gets quiet in the way she doesn’t get often. Her eyes peer back at the beach more than at her ever patient girlfriend. Kaede thinks she looks guilty. She pulls Miu’s hand up to her chest. She places it against the flat beneath her collar bone and watches her face light up.

“ _I_ like you, in the moments when you’re contemplative or when you’re really engrossed in your work and you get that look in your eyes like… I can see a thousand tiny cogs turning in there.”

In seconds, Miu is redder than a tomato. _That_ look is always priceless to Kaede.

Miu shakes her head from side to side.

“Aaaahhh!! C-cut it out, Bakamatsu!! Y-you know what getting all gushy does to me!” she cries, and Kaede’s bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Yeah but I can tell that your heart is smiling! And beating a little faster too probably, eheh!” she says, delighting in the warm water that tickles their toes, curling up around their ankles before receding out again.

Going on the offensive, Miu grins and slides her hand along Kaede’s one-piece, palming at her breast.

“Oh, it definitely is when my sexy _girlfriend_ is jiggling her bitties at me all scandalously!”

Kaede squeaks and swats Miu’s hand away.

“H-hey!!! W-we’re in public!!”

She bats at Miu again for good measure.

“Don’t ruin the moment like that! You were really cute just then!”

The other girl doesn’t cower or cry. She giggles warmly with a confidence that has only solidified over time, trusting in the gentle blush coating Kaede’s cheeks, and trusting in the hand that takes hers even after her antics. Miu pops her hip out with a huff.

“Well, it’s not _my_ fault you started to bounce to and fro like that! Your tits aren’t as big as mine but they still move when you jump around!”

“They shouldn’t be moving that much,” Kaede defends folding her free arm over her bust as she adjusts her swimsuit.

It’s a pretty plain one-piece apart from the color. It shifts from silver to pink under the light with rainbow flecks like mermaid scales. As she tugs it back up and wiggles around, Miu’s snickering to herself.

“We should get back. You don’t want your friends to be held up because you decided to act like a naughty bitch in heat out here at the beach,” Miu taunts, and Kaede’s groaning in reply.

“Geez, Miu, you love to make up stories about what I do in your head too much!”

The fact that Miu’s not let go of her hand yet is promising. She’s started to link their fingers together and looks more confident doing so. Miu is glancing out at the setting sun and the oranges that start to drip their way across the canvas of the sky. When Kaede is busy regarding their hands with a stare, Miu pecks the side of her cheek. Kaede gazes up at her quick.

“Eek! D-don’t say anything about it! L-let’s just get back to your friends!” she shouts, and she begins to drag Kaede back to where Maki is helping Tenko up out of the sand.

Kaede smiles and keeps pace as they storm down the shoreline.

“They’re your friends too!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im always hesitant to use first names when writing japanese characters bc they markedly use last names usually bc thats their culture (also because some of them im really attached to, such as momota-kun vs kaito). but also statistically, 65.4% of japanese couples use Some permutation of their datefriend's given name after they start dating (sometimes with -tan or -chan honorifics), with around 22% using nicknames? like... less than 3.1% of japanese folk refer to the person they're in a romantic relationship with their family name.
> 
> so like. heres to hoping i can use first name use with cutesy honorifics for couples that are already dating without incurring someones wrath or them thinking its out of character.


	20. Kaemaki | Lipbalm Baptism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Kissing, Poetic  
> spoilers: none!
> 
> someone, probably: stop shipping maki with all of the girls thats the only femslash u write  
> me, inevitably as i take a drag from my cigarette: Never
> 
> anyways i wrote this small thing as a warm up

Maki’s head can always float somewhere else when Kaede’s hands are clinging to hers like this, traveling up her arms like delicate little spiders. They always tickle and touch with all the care she’s come to associate with a pianist. Well manicured nails take care not to dig too hard and merely twist in the fabric of her seifuku. It’s all Kaede can do to not come on too strongly. Maki’s never been sure if she believes in a god, especially not with her upbringing, but Kaede’s mouth smoothing into hers are making a convert out of her.

If God is real, she’s letting her kiss this soft pink girl- smells of raspberry shampoo and tastes like strawberry cake. And Maki doesn’t know how else she’d be taking the edge off.

Still getting used to the sensation, her eyelashes flicker. She peeps at Kaede who’s own eyes are closed, and it makes Maki’s heart wrench. _Why?_

There’s an honesty in Kaede’s hands on her, her lips on hers, her unflinching forwardness. It reminds Maki that there are some people in the world who aren’t afraid of being hurt, who climb into the lion’s den like this and try to make friends with the lion.

How many times had she brushed Kaede off just for the girl to mingle with her hands and snap her bracelet against her wrist? She’d tried her hand at painting her nails and Maki had just ended up biting all the polish off, scraping at it because it felt unnatural on her hands. Maki regards the differences between them with all too much dissonance. Her own fingers are red in the cuticles with the little hanging bits she would tear at with her teeth. Her red polish is flaked off in places, messy and fragmented.

A fear folds inside of Maki’s chest, wondering if these feelings of incongruence will ever get easier. They weigh like rain through her paper mache rib cage.

Kaede’s tongue is earnest, and it presses up against hers with a question, with a desire- it’s magenta and it’s sincere, and Maki is neither of those things. She’s black and she’s cold, and Kaede is so _warm,_ and she doesn’t know why the other girl can’t… see that.

Can’t see the way that she reflects light from her body like a mirror.

_Turn your brain off,_ she tells herself.

So Maki does, and she’s sighing into the mouth of an angel.


	21. Momoharu | Fresh Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3)  
> spoilers: Endgame
> 
> i personally dont believe in pregame personalities, but i eventually want to write a pregame fic. i might expand on this idea i have here. this is pretty platonic and boneless but shrugs.

“Where’d you live before you came here?” she asks the boy skipping stones.

He spits his blood into the next one before it jettisons across the lake, and she thinks he’s got enough strength in that arm to take the head off any man twice his size.

“Somewhere,” he says, in that way that makes her feel nostalgic, not for a place but for a time.

There’s still a fire in his eyes, lonely but hungry and her own bowls are but embers at present. When he turns to give her a second glance, he can’t quite see a kindred spirit staring back. He just wrinkles his nose at her before his eyebrows knit, apologetically, like he’s sad with himself for it.

“Why do you care?”

She tilts her head, fondling the hair running over her shoulder. Her voice is sure in a way her slack posture is not.

“I think you’re supposed to be here.”

His eyes scan her. Scrutinizing glares don’t scare her. He sounds more lost than contemplative when he says, “why’s that?”

“Probably ‘cause I am.”

He turns away from the water, focusing less and less on his split lipped pout and more on hers. The sting pisses him off. He digs his teeth into it before he realizes he probably looks angry. She doesn’t flinch at all, not like the way other people do. He shrinks, feels embarrassed, like she thought he would even try intimidation. Not when she’s clearly much more capable than he is.

He drops the next rock at his foot. It lands side by side his worn in black sneakers. Worn in is an understatement; they’re starting to talk back.

“n’ why are you here?”

Her stare looks vacant, focused not on the boy in front of her but the skyline behind him. In a smog-filled sky, the stars are all blotted out and beyond his head sits a billboard. She sounds so matter-of-factly when she says “auditions are on Friday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i purposely didnt use names.


	22. Oumota | Spare Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Familial Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse  
> spoilers: none
> 
> soooo ive seen a lot of abusive oumota content recently and i wanted to write something where ouma was a victim of abuse and momota tries to help him with it. 'tries' being the operative word.
> 
> idk im just tired of the bad content give me something good!!!!!!!!!!

Kokichi’s memorized the old trail leading to the seaside park at midnight. There aren’t any street lamps that light the way. In an age old dwelling of clay plaster and lath, he hid himself inside the walls and begged not to be noticed. Inside his bed and inside his head he begged himself to not make a sound. It’s not until he’s many feet from the front door, stumbling onto the sands that he makes a sob low in his throat. It’s a weak sound that sickens him, twists in his gut with sensitivity and leaves him biting his fangs deep into his lower lip with anger.

His fists are white with pressure. His arms shiver and shake with the itch to tear his nails all down his arms and shred through his clothes, his dark grey hoodie and this skin he can’t fit in. Kokichi’s shoulders swallow up his shuddering neck. He feels ill and with every step across the summer night sands he wishes he’d step on some broken glass. It’s a need- to feel outwardly how he feels inwardly.

His toes sink through the sand. He kicks it as he walks now, searching, hoping. He’ll find the broken bottle. He swings his bare leg into the sand, spraying it all over in a fit of fury until-

“Ouma?”

Sliding the mask back on seamlessly, the boy perks his head up, vision combing the shoreline for the familiar voice. A classmate approaches him. There’s no mistaking that frame of his- somehow bigger than Kokichi remembers it. Maybe it’s just because he’s always hidden under two shirts and a jacket, but when Kaito Momota is standing next to him now, he thinks the other boy is a good ten feet taller. His head blots out the moon.

“Momota-chan?” he asks, too puzzled at their coincidence to formulate a witticism yet.

When he gives the other boy the quick once over, he acknowledges to himself that their difference in footwear also lends itself to their height gap. But maybe… Kaito just looks too angelic in this moment with the moonlight turning his hair into a halo, like for once _he’s_ here to bother _Kokichi_ and not the other way around.

What were guardian angels except bothersome pricks anyway?

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” Kaito asks with a squint- his shadow enough to hide Kokichi from view.

The other boy’s breathing uneven. Kokichi remarks to himself that he’s probably been running. Grinning, he lets his hand slide into the inner sleeve of his hoodie and gives a kittenish flop of the wrist.

“Oh, you know me, Momota-chan! Just getting some exercise! I can’t let you be the beefier one forever!”

Kaito’s face faults with his eyes going vacant. His eyebrows knit and he gives a low, “Hah?”

Kokichi delivers a solid one-two to the air, shifting his weight back and forth between his legs.

“You might think I’m kidding, but a supreme leader’s gotta be strong too! And I’d haaaate it if I let a meathead like _you_ be better than me at anything.”

That’s all that it takes for the astronaut to jeer, jabbing a finger at the smaller boy’s chest with a snort.

“Good luck with _that_ one. I think I’ve got a decent headstart over you,” he says, and Kokichi thinks he’s out of the clear until Kaito straightens his back up and lowers his voice some. “Though… I don’t think you should be doin’ that with no shoes on.”

Popping his hip defiantly, Kokichi appears unfettered as he says, “I do this all the time. Just because you can’t handle my extreme bare feet regimen doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Kaito stammers terribly on cue.

“Th-that doesn’t even make any sense! You’ll just hurt yourself doin’ that, dumbass,” insists Kaito, cursing in a way that Kokichi thinks almost sounds… fond.

There’s a sympathy evident in Kaito’s voice that Kokichi’s always been privy to. It’s the sort of satisfaction that he gets out of conversing with him, knowing that Kaito’s got that simple kind of softness with everyone he talks to. It’s what everyone gets from him, Kokichi thinks. It’s what Shuichi and that other one get from him. That’s why he takes care to not feel special, but he’s feeling particularly low tonight so he wonders if he can get a free pass.

Is it disingenuous then, Kokichi wonders, if he suckers Kaito into caring about him or would he just bum himself out?

These thoughts swirl while Kaito takes a measured step back. The moon’s glow lights up every shade of purple blooming beneath Kokichi’s skin, painting his knees in a watercolor tapestry of hurt. Kokichi’s face falls flat, wishing for once that Kaito couldn’t be so predictable.

None of his wishes have been granted so far tonight. Kaito’s jaw locks up and his eyes are wide and sad.

“Hey, what the fuck happened? Are you okay?” he cuts in with, and when he takes a step forward, Kokichi’s taking several of them back.

“Awwww, look at you! My little plan worked,” Kokichi coos, earning him an infuriating glance up from Kaito. “Wow, Momota-chan. I didn’t think you’d be so easy to fool,” he says, his voice only lifting in volume as the astronaut regards him with a still and steady frown.

“I was beginning to wonder why it is that you hung around Saihara-chan and that bitch so much. I figured it was because you’re drawn to those weak types who expose themselves to you,” he sneers. “Turns out it’s way too easy to read you. You just _love_ feeling needed and look for those introverted types to need you. You’re more pathetic than I thought,” Kokichi spits between laughs.

His voice strains just a little as he finds Kaito rejecting his provocations. The other boy’s mouth is a trembling line less assertive than his eyes are. Still beneath shadow, it’s hard to get a good read but Kokichi feels his tongue swell in his throat.

Why isn’t this working?

_Why is he looking at me like that?_

“Oh, don’t get all quiet on me now. That’s boring. Did I really hurt your feelings that-”

“Who did… this?” asks Kaito, gesturing hesitantly toward his own face.

Kokichi shrinks in, lifting a hand that mirrors Kaito’s and feeling the yellowed skin aching beneath the touch.

His entire cheek is bruised.

Sure it stung a little but, Kokichi hadn’t thought that it’d-

“You don’t have to be ashamed of this shit, just tell me.”

For the first time, Kokichi shivers at the color of Kaito’s voice. His lips are numb and the words won’t come out, but he squints and makes a phony smile nonetheless.

“Ever heard of falling down the stairs?”

Kaito isn’t laughing. Kokichi sighs.

“Ah, Momota-chan. I thought you were smarter than this. You’ll always be an idiot that grasps at the easiest answer, won’t you?”

“Trying to piss me off so I’ll leave you alone isn’t going to work,” he replies smartly.

Kokichi glowers.

“Do you hear yourself?”

The waves licking at the shore roar just a little quieter.

“What kind of person acknowledges that someone wants to be left alone and ignores that? Unbelievable,” Kokichi mutters almost more to himself than to Kaito. “Whatever. You’re boring me. I’m going to continue my exercise elsewhere, Momota-chan.”

“Any fuckin’ person who wants to help you, Ouma. Jesus Christ. Is it that hard to open up?” he cusses.

“You don’t want to help anyone,” Kokichi sings back, turning on his heels. “You just want to save people to suit your own ego.”

Pleased with himself, Kokichi marches along the beachside, aware that the astronaut’s following close behind. Perchance if he ignores him for long enough, he’ll throw his arms up and find some new broken soul to try and heal. There’s tons of worn down teens in this town. Kaito can pick them up like trading cards if he wants but Kokichi won’t be one.

When the footsteps making prints in the sand behind him won’t stop, Kokichi twirls on one toe until he’s facing Kaito again, and then he starts walking backwards. Both his hands are hidden behind his head.

“You have anything else better to do, Momota-chan?”

The silence from Kaito is almost astonishing to him. This is the quietest Kokichi thinks he’s ever heard the other boy. His eyes are much louder though. They’re reflecting the moon’s light quite loudly. He’s wearing a guilty frown as he follows.

“Tch, don’t worry about what I’m doin’! Just keep it moving.”

Naturally, Kokichi stops walking and stares.

“Are you stalking me now? I didn’t know Momota-chan had such a crush on me! Hurry, you better run off before Saihara-chan finds out you came to rendezvous with me for a hot night on the beach!”

Kaito grinds his teeth, resting his thumb and forefinger against his brow bone. Before he can speak, Kokichi’s spitting back at him.

“Oh, are you getting annoyed, Momota-chan? You know you can leave at any time, right? You know that you’re the one who is following _me_ around this time, right?”

Kokichi grins like he dances around the truth: badly.

“Your chivalrous little hero shtick isn’t charming to me at _aaaalllll._ If I'm making you so mad, run on home,” he scowls.

Surprisingly patient, a level in fact that one wouldn’t expect of him, Kaito sighs and folds his arms up. His eyes part from the sea only to train themselves on the terrified look in Kokichi’s eyes. They’re the things he has no control over. No matter what Kokichi can do with his hands, his face or his body posture and all, he can’t make his eyes less glassy.

Kaito doesn’t think he can either, and knowing that’s what he stakes his pride on, he winces at it and says, “at least, let me walk you home.”

Home would be nice. Kokichi’s legs are cold from the brisk night air. His shorts have been riding up. He tugs at the hem thoughtfully and makes an uncomfortable frown.

He’d like to go home. His house is not home though. His slight slip of the mask is all Kaito needs to hang his head with realization.

“You can’t go home,” he says knowingly.

Kokichi giggles.

“You’re smarter than you look,” he chirps before backpedaling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about though, Momota-chan. I think if you aren’t planning on giving me that hot beach date, you should tip toe home. You have a family who misses you.”

Grimacing like he’s smelt something bad, Kaito regards the shorter boy strangely.

“I’ve only been out the house like… an hour or two,” he explains with Kokichi’s message flying over his head.

Fingering his track pants pocket, Kaito pulls his phone out to check the time and frowns at the light shining back up at him. He glances back at Kokichi with a look in his eyes that makes the supreme leader sick. It’s so earnest and pitying that he wants to kick his shins in.

“I am gonna head on home but…”

Kaito trails off, rubbing the back of his neck and waffling between the words he wants to say and the words he thinks sound best. Nowhere in his head are the things that Kokichi wants to hear. Knowing this, he turns around and continues on down the beach. When Kaito speaks up again, his voice is a barely audible call.

“My jii-chan’s got a spare room.”

Kokichi doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t stop until he’s counted to a hundred and then he turns back around. Kaito’s gone and he makes a selfish kind of smile. He digs his toes in the sand, looking for glass. He’s surprised instead when he finds a few tears in the grain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to write more but ouma doesnt open up easily. i felt it would be unrealistic to write it any differently. but he's... appreciative. i think. i think eventually maybe. also my personal headcanon is that oumas an orphan but i needed him to have a family for this fic.


	23. Saimota | Let's Read a Dirty Book [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuichi, Mutual Masturbation, Porn Magazines, Closeted Character, Awkward Sexual Situations  
> spoilers: none
> 
> its official, i have now written more nsfw saimota than sfw. i swear to god i wasn't even going to write this but i was talking to a friend who will remain anonymous and they agreed that i should do it.
> 
> so now you have it: that scene from salmon team where kaito and shuichi agree to look at porn together is now a fic.

Shuichi doesn’t think that it’s going to go over well, cracking a joke like that in secluded company. They’re both sat on the floor with a pile of dusty books all around them, looking for the comic books as those seem to be Kaito’s favorite. It's every two seconds he’s wiping his hands off on his pants and frowning at the collection of particles all over his pinstriped knees now.

When the words leave his lips, a dry chuckle and a, “why don’t we see if there’s some dirty books in here,” he’s floored when Kaito gives an almost devilish laugh and nudges him in the side. It nearly knocks him over. Kaito’s elbow could’ve bruised his ribs from the enthusiasm and it still wouldn’t have distracted Shuichi from his emphatic shout.

“Haha, of course!”

It’s too late now to say he was joking.

“It’s… weird for guys to _not_ look for those kinds of books in a library!” he says, with the sort of tenor suggesting to Shuichi that Kaito’s trying to convince himself of this fact.

Kaito’s hands shiver a bit, fumbling with the manga in his hands. They’d been at it for several minutes now, searching for the type of western comics that Kaito grew up liking. He pauses some in what Shuichi thinks is introspection before he chuckles again, setting down the books in his hand with an uncharacteristic amount of care as he smiles in mouth only.

“Of course, we gotta keep this a secret from the girls!” Kaito says and Shuichi is wondering if it’s too late for the both of them to back out of this.

It’s a struggle to deny his quickening heartbeat and even harder to insist to himself that it’s reason enough to call this off before it makes a fool out of him. Anyone else would laugh in turn, nudge him by the arm and say it was all a joke, but there’s something about Kaito that makes it hard to say that to him. Shuichi _isn’t_ just crushing. There’s something charismatic and persuasive about that smile of his. At the same time, he’s almost like an excitable dog. Far be it from him to turn Kaito down when he’s already standing up and running his finger along the shelf, flicking the dust that catches and skimming the titles with absorption.

Shuichi’s standing up too. The two of them, pointedly separately, search through assortments of books. Kaito’s humming aloud and making small noises of acknowledgement as he finds what he thinks he’s looking for before slotting the book back in its place and deciding it’s not quite it. Realizing quite soon that Shuichi doesn’t exactly know what to look for, he pauses while knelt down, face deep in the non-fiction section before calling out to the astronaut.

“Momota-kun?”

“Yeah?” he shouts back from the other side of the room, thumbing through a magazine.

“What… exactly are we looking for?”

Laughing that laugh that sounds more like a presentation than an expression of mirth, Kaito turns on his heels and gestures with the rolled up mag.

“You’re a man and you don’t know?”

The comment is innocent enough. Shuichi knows it isn’t meant to harm or sting. Kaito’s like a rose bush who hasn’t realized he’s got thorns sometimes. It’s always clumsy, never intentional. Still, the detective gives a light blush and pulls at his collar, releasing some of the heat that’s pooling beneath his binder.

“I guess… whatever we look for has to be something the both of us like, right?” he asks, and Kaito deposits his chin into his hand.

“Hm, maybe! Then… what kinda girls do you like?”

In the silence that hangs between them, Shuichi’s mouth droops ajar. He doesn’t think he has a type, or at least one that he can think of on the spot. He’s spent the greater half of the hour trying desperately to stop thinking of how Kaito’s got the sharpest jawline he’s ever seen and hands that could handle him like silly putty easily. He hasn’t exactly been thinking of what naked girls he wants to look at.

He doesn’t mean to regard him awkwardly but the pause is too long and Kaito’s coughing apologies back up between short guffaws.

“Sorry! Sorry, god- that’s way too direct of a question,” he says before gripping the mag with both hands, dragging his thumb over the curled up pages tensely. “Let’s narrow it down to… things we don’t like!”

This conversation is steering way out of Shuichi’s comfort zone, which is wild because if he can’t carry on about these things with Kaito, what makes him think that he can take a seat next to him and look at porn?

Wincing some, Shuichi forces a smile.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal, Momota-kun. It’s just for fun anyways,” Shuichi insists, dragging his finger down the side of his face when he realizes mid-motion that he’s reaching for the hat he’s not wearing. “I just… don’t look at this stuff much,” he fibs.

Kaito quiets considerably, his mouth shifting into the corner of his face.

“I see, yeah. M-me neither really,” he admits somewhat sheepishly. “Every guy’s got an appreciation for beautiful girls though. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

Shuichi’s eyebrows curl up and he sighs through his nose almost sympathetically.

“If you don’t look at this stuff either, then we really don’t have to-”

“Found it!” Kaito interjects, shoving a hefty stack of reading material all onto the floor and away from the corner of two bookshelves; all but hidden from view to the casual library peruser are what appear to be piles of pornography mags.

The detective nearly blanches at the sight of it.

“Th-this much material was just hidden in the library!?” he blurts, making his way from the other side of the library and to Kaito’s side in seconds.

Two heaps are split between the two bookshelves to make a perfect 90 degree angle of porn, and they were all entombed behind a pyramid of history books. Kaito almost sounds disgusted when he mutters a soft, “why would someone _need_ this much?”

Nevertheless, he plops down beside the magazines and begins to sieve through them. Shuichi’s hesitant to take his place at his side, instead choosing to glance over his shoulder with a strained interest.

Really, who would trap them here but also ensure they had plenty of porn?

Shuichi doesn’t think much of it when every dirty book is heterosexually slanted: entire two-page spreads dedicated to women spreading their legs as far as the east is from the west with none of it catered to an audience other than straight men. Kaito’s stare is very clinical in a way Shuichi hasn’t seen. His eyes scour the material like he’s trying to analyze it more than get an erection from it.

Head at Kaito’s shoulder, Shuichi’s not minding their proximity until Kaito turns toward him. When the astronaut holds back a soft sound and leans his head back, Shuichi feels his gut pull and they both share a small laugh.

“Here, lemme scoot and give you some room, sidekick!”

Before he can protest, Kaito’s already shifted completely against the wall, giving Shuichi a wide berth and tugging at his arm to sit down. Naturally, Shuichi follows his lead, collapsing down to his knees before he wrangles his arm back.

“Auagh! H-hey-”

“Here, you get a pile too,” Kaito says, gesturing toward the second bookshelf that’s nearer to Shuichi.

Deciding not to make a fuss, Shuichi takes a few in his hands. They feel leathery and old. The dust problem is back and his clothes are going to be ruined. Merely observing the magazines with a transient interest, he very quickly returns to wondering what they’re supposed to do now that they’ve found them. Kaito’s rummaging through the piles before he comes across some manga.

He discards the magazines and starts flipping through the pages, eyeballing the panels with slightly more interest. Shuichi’s focused on Kaito more than the books, swallowing hard and wondering what the purpose of all this is.

Do guys… do this sort of thing together? Having grown up without many male friends, Shuichi’s not privy to it. Are they supposed to simply ogle the pretty girls and remark to one another about it?

The hush is starting to kill him so Shuichi leans in a bit and says, “ah, is that manga?”

Stiffening up some, Kaito looks back at Shuichi and smiles wide.

“Is that what you’re into? I got you covered, sidekick!” he says, and shoves the book into his partner’s unwilling hands.

Shuichi handles the books like he’d handle a handful of tomatoes- uncomfortably and confusedly.

“I-I didn’t say that!”

“It’s okay, I completely understand where you’re coming from,” Kaito says. “I mean, they aren’t real so maybe it’s weird to some people but, it’s easier to fantasize about that kinda stuff with a girl who isn’t real, y’know?”

Kaito’s scratching his head and looking to Shuichi for reassurance. Shuichi can tell because when Kaito’s eyes meet his, there’s a plea in them just moments before they turn back to mingling with the dust. Shuichi mulls it over a bit before he says, “I think I understand.”

The soft unease in Kaito’s face is remedied almost immediately and he’s gazing back now with a hopeful sort of stare. Shuichi smiles just a little.

“I’ve always felt kinda… ah, exploitative? ...about fantasizing about someone who doesn’t know I’m doing it,” he says, resisting the pangs of guilt that spread through his chest much like how lightning spreads through the sky.

He’s talking to one of his fantasies _right now._ That still doesn’t stop anything that he’s saying from being true. Lord knows that Shuichi’s felt bad for wishing they’d kiss. It’s a lesson in self control every time Kaito leans in close and speaks his heart in a whisper. Sometimes he doesn’t want to be told that he’s doing a good job. Sometimes he wants Kaito to shut that mouth close around him but he can’t move a muscle to make it so.

The astronaut’s grinning gladly back at him, giving a softer, more earnest elbow to the gut.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how I feel too! Not that real life girls aren’t great,” he maintains and Shuichi’s slanting a brow quietly as Kaito buries his hands in more mags. “A man should always take care to keep his focus on his goals and not get caught up in fantasies.”

Shuichi chuckles brightly.

“Should you really be saying that sort of thing while rummaging through porn?”

The question is so blunt, Kaito’s face burns.

“Sh-shut up! This was your idea!”

“I-I wasn’t even that serious about it,” Shuichi stammers, feeling slight victory quell in his chest over making the other boy blush a light pink before it’s replaced by sticky shame.

The last thing he wants is for Kaito to think that he’s some kind of pervert, the truth of the matter up for debate and notwithstanding.

Watching as Kaito turns his attention exclusively toward the dirty manga, Shuichi takes a few glimpses through the one sat in his hands. It’s not often that things like this to do it for him. He blames his body for the reason he responds to anything like this. It’s a curse, he feels. As much as he wished his body were anatomically much more like Kaito’s and unlike Kaede’s, his reality was what it was. He gawked at homosexual porn with envy, unable to identify with a body that could never belong to him.

Still, peeping at cisgender women being fucked by cisgender men felt unfulfilling to him. Any stirring he felt between his thighs was simply wishing that he could be the woman in question, but… also not a woman. It was a complicated emotion, wanting to be the object of men’s affections in this deeply sexual way while not being a woman.

If nothing else, anatomically this sort of porn was closer to his material reality. Maybe if he covered up the breasts he wouldn’t feel so gross about it. If he just dissected everything down to parts, it wasn’t so bad. Shuichi turned the pages hoping he could divide the body in his mind. It’s not a woman and it’s not a man. It’s a dick and it’s a pussy, and he could get something out of _that_.

Unaware that he’s been quietly perusing the book, he’s startled by Kaito’s chin on his shoulder.

“Is this one really good?” he asks with a blatantly nonsexual sounding curiosity.

The contact against him makes Shuichi’s muscles all turn taut and he makes a slight jump in his skin as he stutters.

“Uh, s-sorta? I’m not really paying attention to the story,” he says, and Kaito brings a hand up to turn the page for him.

“Huh,” he murmurs, at something- Shuichi doesn’t know what.

Kaito sounds bored as he holds half the book up.

“I usually need a good story for these kinds of things,” he says, but his lilt changes as he grins across at Shuichi.

“This here’s doin’ it for you, right?”

Shuichi curls his lips and freezes, heart creeping into his throat. He doesn’t know how to say that Kaito’s position next to him makes him more worked up than some porn manga ever could. Some manipulative part of him though sees an opportunity here. There’s only so many places this kind of thing could go. What do men do together when they read these kinds of things?

Giving a slow nod, the detective decides to ante up.

“Yeah, kinda,” he says, thinking that the uncertain statement works in his favor; he’d sound far too fake if he were any surer than that.

Kaito’s stare turns pensive and when he makes a point to close his mouth and fix it in a trembling line, Shuichi thinks that he can make out the exact point that the realization crosses Kaito’s mind. The tension between them becomes muddier as Kaito scoots an inch closer, revering the book in a newer light now. Shuichi fumbles through his thoughts until he reaches the conclusion that he wants this too, where things are leading.

Fuck if he knows how to get there, though.

Both staring at the pages with varied levels of engrossment, Shuichi’s heart hastens. Suddenly every page feels lewder than the previous. Shuichi finds himself wondering if Kaito’s getting turned on too. Shuichi can admit that it’s more the thought of the two of them doing something illicit here that’s making his cogs turn and not this dumb manga. His head feels like a melting pot as he continues to turn each page, taking the imagery apart into digestible pieces and filling in the parts he wants: imagining it’s Kaito running his hands down his sides, and imagining it’s Kaito that’s filling him as quick and deep as he needs.

Swallowing hard, Shuichi hides a tremor. It’s uncomfortably warm in this room. He really can’t stand it. The question comes out so much easier than he’s expecting it to.

“What are we supposed to do?”

It still sounds so meek but he hopes Kaito can be forward for once. Instead, the astronaut’s shrugging somewhat shy and he answers in a sigh.

“What do you usually do?”

If Shuichi thought harder about it, he might think that Kaito sounded a bit inquisitive in a probing way. Instead it merely comes across as cagey, and Shuichi’s not prepared for Kaito to be uncharacteristically cagey. He shifts off his position on his knees onto his ass, dislodging Kaito from his shoulder and resting the book against his knees.

“I don’t… do that sort of stuff around other people,” Shuichi says as if he isn’t hoping and wishing and praying that Kaito would start jacking off already.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Kaito says, and Shuichi fixes him with a calculated gaze.

“Isn’t that weird, though?”

He’s hoping that his voice sounds dubious enough to inspire that compelling part of Kaito- the part of him that always comes to Shuichi’s rescue when he’s doubting himself. There’s a silent beat between them and then Kaito’s smiling something special.

“You’re not weird, Shuichi! Men do this together all the time!”

Even in this foggy headspace, Shuichi’s becoming more aware of Kaito’s ability to project his feelings onto other people. Even when Kaito was handing the manga to him and insisting it was what Shuichi was into, the detective felt as though Kaito were putting Shuichi in his shoes just to other himself and give little pep talks to _himself._ Listening to Kaito lecture him on how he wasn’t weird for this only spurred him on more knowing that Kaito was talking to himself too.

“And you’re every bit a man as I am, so don’t feel like this is something you can’t do!”

Shuichi feels a fondness rest in his throat and he makes an oblique smile. If there’s one guy who will validate your gender by insisting you should jack off in front of him, he guesses that it’s Kaito Momota.

“Even if you say that, if it's just me I don’t think I can just…”

As he trails off, he realizes that he sounds impeccably forthright about it. Kaito straightens his back up and regards him plainly.

“Oh, would you feel more comfortable if I…”

Shuichi blinks.

“Well, if it were just me, wouldn’t that just be you watching me?”

Speaking candidly, Shuichi doesn’t think that many things ride the line of homoeroticism as closely as masturbating with your best friend. He does know one thing though: it’s definitely gayer to simply sit by and watch your friend jack off than it is to jack off with them. In the latter situation, both of you can pretend you’re paying attention to the porn.

This realization catches up to Kaito real quick and he’s shifting uncomfortably in place before he’s plopped on his ass too. His pants are bunching up at the hips and Shuichi can’t gander to see if he spots an erection or not. Just the fact that he was looking at all makes guilt stick to him like glue.

“I-I wouldn’t do that,” he asserts defensively. “C’mon, Shuichi.”

Shuichi can’t tell if Kaito’s asking him to do something or merely griping at him. All his thoughts on the matter turn to mush when he sees Kaito’s hand. It reaches into his pants and all at once, he watches Kaito grasp his dick. It changes the whole atmosphere for Shuichi.

Suddenly it’s not a fantasy out of reach or a thousand tons of palpable sexual tension. It’s become a sexual activity. Without even touching each other, Shuichi feels sensitive and electric all over. Kaito’s hand is tucked beneath his stretchy waistband, gripping himself so frankly with his eyes locked onto the book. All the while, Kaito’s silent save for a few tight-lipped sighs that never pass his tongue and teeth.

Hesitantly, Shuichi slides a hand down.

He can’t look at Kaito, and Kaito can’t look at him. He knows this. They’ve both locked themselves in a corner where they can’t make this weird, when they’re already doing something really, _really_ weird. Holding the book with one hand now, Shuichi’s right one is rubbing at his crotch in circles. The movement isn’t very deliberate, like he’s afraid to take it seriously. Kaito’s reaching with his left hand to turn the pages. The only contact they have is through Kaito’s right arm nudging up against Shuichi, and as he’s reminded that Kaito’s touching himself with that arm, Shuichi’s finger nudges up against his clit through his clothes and he shivers in place.

It’s a strange clockwork-like gesture, every few seconds or so as Kaito turns each of the pages. Shuichi wonders if either of them are paying attention to the material as much as they’re paying attention to each other. This girl is getting railed hard enough to make her cry. The dialogue lets Shuichi know that all is consensual and he wonders to himself if that could happen to him- if he could be fucked so hard that he cries. He wonders if it could be because it hurts. He’s still a virgin but he imagines that would be part of the pleasure.

His eyes dart down to his side just once before locking with the book once more. Shuichi wonders how big Kaito is- wonders if it’s that big. Wonders if it’s big enough to make him cry. It seems like such a silly porn concept, and maybe it is. Shuichi _does_ know that Kaito’s hand isn’t making small or short motions. Even through his peripherals and even feeling their arms jostle together, he thinks he can get a good idea for his size. Shuichi pokes his finger at his hole through his pants.

Kaito’s probably decent enough.

Soon, Shuichi envies the level of privacy Kaito has: hand hidden from view as it only moves in unknown ways from beneath his pants. Feeling suddenly so self-conscious about the way he gets himself off, Shuichi makes that leap to shove his hand down his pants. Still holding the book, he can’t quite unbutton his trousers with a single hand. His wrist burns against his waistband but his fingers can still reach. The moment his tips meet with the slick head of his clit, he can’t hide an obvious shudder. It ripples through his whole body and Kaito sighs out in reply.

He’s paying attention to him, isn’t he? Shuichi can’t be making things up. They’re kinda leaned up against one another actually, in a vague sort of way. The stretches of time between Kaito’s page turning become longer and longer. Shuichi finds himself staring at the backs of his eyelids more often than not, only letting his eyes flutter open sparingly to take a spying glance at Kaito’s waist beside him. Kaito’s hand is pumping fast but still so nonchalantly. His wrist is really quite limp while his hips seem to tense and shift every so often.

Shuichi gazes back at the book. He’s barely managing to keep it upright in his hand at this point. His wrist hurts from the angle he’s kept it at for some time now. He wonders when it’s safe to drop it down and drop the act. Neither one of them are reading it. Shuichi’s sliding his middle finger up and down his slit with abandon, letting every spark of pleasure run straight to his brain.

Kaito’s getting off to him after all, Shuichi thinks. Whatever part of Shuichi’s brain that’s usually too self-deprecating to ever consider concepts like this has taken a temporary leave. He’s losing himself to the satisfaction climbing up his spine.

_Kaito’s masturbating while watching you masturbate next to him._

Sucking in a breath, Shuichi forces his hand further down his pants and works a finger inside him.

_Kaito’s thinking about you getting off, and it gets him off too._

Few seconds more of this thought and Shuichi is fucking himself on his fingers, rocking against his own touch like there is no one next to him.

All the while, the book remains upright. Shuichi can’t afford to drop it or even turn to look Kaito in the face. He makes a labored sound he’s not embarrassed of. It’s born of the cramp forming in his wrist from holding this damn book up. When he makes it, Kaito lets out a broken noise he’s been holding, Shuichi thinks- waiting until Shuichi made some sound of his own.

Knowing this, Shuichi experiments with letting his breaths blossom into delicate, desperate moans as he exhales. Kaito isn’t loud. Kaito remains pretty collected, but Shuichi can feel his arm jerking harder than before. He peeks one eye out to find Kaito’s yanked himself through his pants and is pumping himself freely. The sight of his cock draws a slight whimper out of him, pointing out to himself the slick head and how much precum is coating his palm.

Shuichi turns the rest of his head, unafraid now to confirm his suspicions. Kaito’s eyes are fully shut. His eyebrows knit in strained desire while he listens in for Shuichi’s voice. Slowly setting the manga down and freeing his button and zipper too, Shuichi enters himself fully at the angle he loves most. He utters a soft, mangled cry that starts in his throat and dies when he fears it’s too loud. He muffles the sound beneath his tongue and Kaito inhales knife-sharp. When Kaito’s hand speeds up, Shuichi spreads his legs wider and slots his fingers in and out of himself lightning quick.

He’s just watching now, witnessing Kaito touch himself and lose himself with him. Thoughts fill his head of leaning over and touching him too, climbing over top and letting Kaito take him- all jumbling around and bringing his orgasm closer and closer to him. Shuichi’s rutting into his hand and arching his back like he does when he’s alone. It takes every ounce of strength to not tie Kaito’s name to the end of every moan in his throat.

Feeling insecure about it, Shuichi covers his mouth as he finds his climax meeting him. His knees knock and his body twists up in pleasure. Every nerve in his body explodes into golden fireworks. The noise that rumbles through his throat is cut into little separate pieces that all fall out with every shiver and shake that racks his trembling, aching form.

His body is spent.

Kaito and Shuichi both lean into each other. Following Shuichi’s high, Kaito’s only seconds away, the sound of the other boy cumming leading to his unravel. Kaito’s whole body goes rigid, and in seconds he's hissing between his teeth, emptying his worth into his hand.

Well, some of it is in his hand. Most of it is on the bookcase.

It’s not until Shuichi’s let go from the fog in his head that he notices just what Kaito’s done. Still panting aloud and yanking his hand from his pants, Shuichi wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with a crooked wrist and speaks slow.

“Momota-kun.”

Laying down on his back, Kaito’s still palming his dick. He grips the base and pulls up until the last bits of cum pool just above his stomach beneath his shirt. He then utters a, “what?”

Shuichi covers his eyes with his clean hand and grimaces.

“You… all over the books.”

Kaito makes a bewildered sound of confused acknowledgement before he makes a move to sit up. He presses his shirt against his body, wiping his stomach with it and earning a disgusted shiver out of Shuichi who thinks to himself, _that’s really disgusting, Momota-kun._

Once he’s upright and he eyes the threads of translucent white that are dripping off the books, Kaito groans and is too covering his face with his clean hand.

“Fuck.”

Kaito scrambles up, desperate to get some breathing room probably.

“I’ll get some cleaning supplies,” he blurts anxiously.

The luminary of the stars is already gone by the time Shuichi mumbles a soft, “I don't think anyone will want to read these anymore, Momota-kun.”

He reasons they should probably toss the books and they don't make eye contact for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, i Am dfab trans and my relationship with my body and porn and etc. is going to be different from other ppls. i pulled from my thoughts/experiences while writing this.
> 
> also yes kaito is gay and is not attracted to women in this lol. but he Is attracted to shuichi.


	24. Momoharu | Midnight Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Simulation, Postgame, Trans Female Character, Trans Harukawa Maki  
> spoilers: endgame spoilers
> 
> back at it again at the ship no one likes and no one writes (does a split on a tree) wanted something kinda sad but hopeful. also its time to reveal that i love trans girl maki. shes just trans!!!

Kaito’s thoughts don’t catch up nearly as quickly as they should, forever chasing behind the realization that hits him every night all over again. Like a star that fell to earth (felt in his achy, splintered bones and all), he stirs with the echoes of a thousand universes slipping in and out of his head. His breath is bright gold, and pink, and he’s smacking his hand against his chest expecting to find it sticky with blood.

No, just sweat. And the kind of pain that he fears comes with a heart attack. It’s tight in his entire body and his throat won’t open- straining and squeezing and _scaring_ him so much.

Light-headed from his medication, or maybe from the air he can’t get in his lungs, Kaito turns onto his side with feverish fingers tugging down the neck of his tank top. It tears in his touch, and still he can’t breathe.

Sputtering with a terrible familiarity, it flashes through his mind again- how it feels to die.

Uncharacteristic of the luminary of the stars, his nails dig into the flesh of his chest and he coughs out a sob. It burns. His head won’t still and he’s a million miles away. In the vacuum of space he reaches out into an endless expanse while his mouth clogs with iron. The river rises to his teeth.

He’s dying. He’s floating far off where no maps have been made and no man can find him.

Kaito vomits teppanyaki onto the carpet. His arms collect in a pile against the bedside table. They knock the salt lamp onto the floor and he’s panting sharp. His whole body radiates more heat than Venus. Even the cold air against his back can’t soothe him, like an imprisoning layer of mugginess is keeping it at bay.

A pillar of light falls squarely on Kaito’s shambling shoulder blades, shaking in his skin like his bones are about to fall out of him. From the door of the bathroom adjoined to the bedroom, a voice calls out stridently.

“Momota!?”

The sound of it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. It’s just like then, some nights. It’s not like he can ask her to sound any different than she does.

Kaito thinks he has something to say but only bile climbs out, and he’s gripping the nightstand tighter like his body is having a war with him. Maki makes her way to the bed, expertly dodging the puke staining the carpet.

It’s a mistake when can’t move his mouth to respond, only forming it into a purse and spitting phlegm into the mess. Her hands meet with the sides of his head and yank his face up, and she calls his name again.

Dream-sick with heart full of nightmares, Kaito flinches back and takes one of her hands in his. He feels wrong in his body, a stranger in his head. He can barely make out the visage of… someone gazing down at him attentively. Frowning deeply with disgust and ignoring the taste of acid on his tongue, he takes a flickering breath and pushes her hand through his hair, resting his forehead against her palm.

He sounds newly broken when he says he thought he was dying again.

Maki maneuvers over the carpet to his side. She nestles close to him on her knees with each arm wrapping to take a hold of him slow. Her grip can be punishing, a little too tight like she’s afraid he’ll run off but he always leans back or mirrors her hand with his own. For now it’s the latter. He’s still so warm all over. Only seconds after her skin makes contact with his does she peel her hands off.

“You’re burning up,” she remarks. “Sweatier than Saihara.”

To that, Kaito can laugh. Even when he feels as bad as this, nothing pulls him out of the clouds and back down to Earth like Maki’s brand of dry humor can be. Sometimes it’s not humor. Sometimes she’s just blunt and he takes it the wrong way. Surely Shuichi would’ve taken gentle offense to that line. Kaito just chuckles with a weakness that punctures Maki’s heart. She’s tugging him up to exit the bed long-ways so he doesn’t step directly in vomit.

Within seconds, they’re in the shower.

Kaito doesn’t think he has enough strength to stand up. He’s pressing both hands into the tile and letting the cold water kill every thought in his head. Every memory of that game and every false feeling in his chest. Too many times he’s thought that he shouldn’t be alive. Too many times it’s crossed his mind that what he felt, no human being should ever feel. How had fifty-two other games taken place like this? How had so many people consented to being treated like dolls?

He supposes, he’ll never know. He can’t remember being that guy anyways. No point in stressing over it.

Perhaps, that’s why these panic attacks frustrate him, because he had made a decision not to sweat all of this. More time was spent convincing everyone else that it was worth it to move on. None of them could change who they were before. None of them could change the matter of their realities. So what if these memories weren’t his own. He thought himself worthy to take care of them.

 _Someone has to live for them,_ he’d said, and Maki had said he didn’t make any sense.

Joining the shower behind him, Maki rests against his spine with a sigh. Her embrace reminds Kaito of delicate vines, curling and climbing up the things that it likes. He reaches down to take a hand and lock it tight within his own. It’s only after he’s felt the sweat swirl down the drain that his sickness fades, and he says what he’s been thinking.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Harumaki,” he says, only pausing to lap up the water running down his face. “I thought you couldn’t do it.”

When Maki shakes her head, her newly cut bob shakes with her.

“I didn’t think I could,” she reaffirms. “But I thought about what you said… about how people see me.”

“Mmm’yeah?” he groans back, stretching beneath the water.

“My life is _my_ life to live now.”

Rotating on his heels, Kaito rests his back against the wall while he gets a good look at Maki now. The fluorescent light doesn’t do her any justice. They’re both a bit paler and skinnier than he remembers them being, but he supposes that’s naturally what will happen when you’re in a chamber for weeks with only an IV feeding you.

He thinks to himself, there’s a few things the simulation got right- like the beauty mark beneath her eye and the natural pout of her lips. There’s a few things Kaito’s learned in his time awake that no simulation could ever get perfect, like the beauty marks littering the upper levels of her chest and how much they resemble the constellation Leo (he’s run his fingers quite often between Algieba and Regulus).

Maki’s hair is choppy. Imagine Himiko with straight bangs and you get close to the look. It’s not perfect but she is, and her gaze is prying him open like she’s desperate to know what he thinks of it. With a dim smile, he lifts a hand to sift his fingers through. Maki chews on her cheek.

“Are you going to stare at it or say something?”

Kaito grins sleepily and runs his thumb across her cheek.

“Sorry. Just kinda… admirin’.”

Shifting in place, Kaito watches as she finds sooner than later that she cant fiddle and fondle her hair now when feeling sheepish. Being naked means she can’t pull at her clothes in some fashion either. Instead she shifts her weight between legs and takes Kaito’s hands in her own. Her ever-tight grip only endears him. Kaito kneads his thumbs against her fingers and says, “I think you’re cute no matter what hair you’ve got.”

She'd suggested cutting her hair once, as a fresh start- as a way to distance herself from the killing game. Kaito stopped gelling his hair, though that was less an active decision on his part and more a symptom of the depression. On his higher days he'd still pull it off and storm into the kitchen like, _remember this guy?_

Still, dysphoria kept her from cutting it. Worried she'd lose her femininity, she clung to her tails. Kaito didn't mind either way. It wasn't his decision to make.

When Maki goes a bit mum, Kaito pulls her hands up to his mouth to kiss them.

“Does it feel better, like you’ve shed weight?”

“Are _you_ okay?” she asks, cutting him off.

Blinking slow, letting the water dangle off his eyelashes, Kaito regards her blearily.

“Me? Yeah, I’m…”

They’ve done this before. It takes twenty-one days to break a habit, maybe, if you’re a regular person. Kaito Momota’s never been a regular person. It feels like pulling teeth to ever admit a thing, fault or weakness, and being in front of someone who loves him more than anything doesn’t make it easier. It should. It makes it so much easier for everyone else but Kaito feels incapable.

Maki shoves some of his bangs out of his face, peering into his eyes that glance back with an almost childish surprise. Like he’ll believe anything she tells him, so she says, “you’re healing just like we are.”

And he supposes they all do it in different ways. His eyes close and when he takes a deep breath, his lungs fill to the size he thinks they should be, and he’s afraid to let it out, like letting it out will change that. He shudders and Maki answers, “I do feel better, chest pains aside.”

Chuckling, Kaito releases her hands and caresses her sides with his own. He’s careful to not try massaging like he’d done last time. He’s learned if he can’t do it right, don’t do it at all.

“That just means that it’s working, right Harumaki?” he asks, clueless but supportive, and receptive to the kiss she lends him, chastely and happily.

“Yeah,” she says with less enthusiasm than she means, and Kaito cuts the water off.

Maybe it’s ironic that the only clean clothes in the whole house now are their complementary Team Danganronpa t-shirts. They blame Shuichi. It was his turn to do laundry.

They also blame themselves. They didn’t burn these ugly things or throw them out.

Kaito cleans up most of the vomit. Maki pours baking soda on it. Within a half hour they’re nestled up in bed again and Maki’s the big spoon as always.

It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoy holding onto her. Kaito would pull her into his arms every night if he could. There’s the sensation of being trapped that puts a ghost in Maki’s lungs. When she sleeps in the bed at all with him, she needs to be free to move. She wants a thin blanket and she doesn’t want a pillow. All Maki wants is Kaito, and sometimes he even sleeps on the floor if she needs.

Tonight he’s shivering a little. Maki nuzzles into his neck.

“Talk to me tomorrow?” she asks, and that's code for letting Kaito know that he dodged the topic of his trauma all night.

Wordlessly he nods, lifts a single hand of hers to his mouth and kisses it like a promise.

“Wake me up if you have another nightmare,” she insists. “Unless you want to die.”

The joke lands in Kaito’s throat, and he swallows it uneasily. The hesitation makes Maki tense up and she curls up against him.

“Tell me you don’t.”

His mouth shivers.

“I don’t.”

And he’s fibbing just a little, but Maki’s voice is reaffirming anyways.

“Then you won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> her chest hurts bc she's on hrt. trans girls on hrt get breast pains.
> 
> officially reached 40k of v3 drabbles, wow!!!!!!!!!!!!1


	25. Saioumota | Like We're Alone [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuichi, Trans Ouma Kokichi, Threesome - M/M/M, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Vaginal Sex  
> spoilers: none
> 
> i actually didnt wanna write another porn fic for a bit but i got this request ages ago from vaarsuvius for smut involving trans ouma and saioumota, and decided to fill it! mostly bc i got an idea in mind i wanted to pursue and felt like... sure let's do a threesome. this took me days and i am Never writing a threesome ever again because jesus christ how do people do this.
> 
> if yr asking if im ashamed that my first saioumota content is smut, just a little.
> 
> also, they've been dating for a bit so i figured they'd use first names (cept ouma who shirks emotional connection and vulnerability so he just shortens their family names)

Kokichi isn’t an attention hog, or so he’d like to believe. It has to be the _right_ kind of attention which isn’t a lie or far from the truth. If it sacrifices his control, color him uninterested. If he turns into some cherished prize on display, his pallor greens and he needs a way out. Really, he never wants the focus on his body. There are ways he can’t be looked at or touched. Kokichi wants all the focus to be on what he _does._

It’s why he’s fondly lowering his throat around Kaito without warning, graciously licking up all the juice that’s pooled at the head. God bless his lack of gag reflex. He makes a sickeningly sweet, self-satisfied hum as Kaito spasms beneath him. It warms his heart and other places.

Oh, did that startle him? Kokichi hopes so. He got to thinking he had been all but forgotten as Kaito tongue kissed his other boyfriend, knuckle deep inside him and searching for gold. Kaito broke the kiss only to smother his face in Shuichi’s shoulder and breathe deep. One hand is twisting and knotting in Kokichi’s hair while the other is turning Shuichi into a melty mess.

“Jesus _Christ-”_ Kaito mumbles, all but breathless within seconds of Kokichi’s touch. “Little e-eager much?”

The sound of Kokichi’s muffled reply somehow does a thing for Kaito, delighting in the way his cock fills his throat out. Kaito spreads just a little bit wider on the bed and then his hips buck, utterly involuntary, and his face burns from it. His moan is quick and falls out easy.

If Kokichi’s as talented as he usually is then this fun won’t last for long. Lathering up his cock with a liberal tongue, Kokichi smooths his hands up and down Kaito’s inner thighs, snagging the hair with his fingers and tugging if Kaito jerks his hips too hard.

“H-hey, watch it-”

 _“Kaito,”_ Shuichi calls after, voice deep with a demand sending Kaito’s gut flipping through his body. “Please,” he says, both of his hands taking a feverish grip of Kaito’s arm between his thighs, distracting him from Kokichi’s provocations (or else he won’t be getting off).

Like it’s the two of them alone, Shuichi rocks his hips down. He grinds up against Kaito’s fingers and wills them further into him, his bottom lip turning white beneath a row of quivering teeth. Kaito feels a lightning bolt of pleasure shoot right through his ego on the way to his dick. His toes curl and he pulls Shuichi closer to his side.

Kaito’s left hand cradles the back of Shuichi’s head like a gift, his right hand dives deeper inside of him slow, and they kiss again. Shuichi’s moaning messy and heavy, tongue thrashing like he can’t get enough of Kaito’s taste and fucking himself upon his fingers, thinking this certain pleasure to be divine providence.

Shuichi’s whimpering into his ear, rutting against him hard while Kokichi bobs his head upon him, slobbery and loud. This is enough stimulation all at once to make Kaito cum, but he doesn’t.

Sucking from the base to the head, Kokichi pulls his lips back with a _pop!_

“ _Fuck,_ Kichi-” Kaito whines with a shiver as his boyfriend draws a tantalizing line down his length with a pointer finger.

“You can’t finish yet! You’re the only one with a working dick around here,” Kokichi says, knowing that Kaito can’t be _too_ mad considering he still used his pet name. “You’re the one who wanted two boyfriends, _Momo-chan._ You’d better be able to pony up.”

Eyebrow twitching into a jagged line, Kaito fixes Kokichi with an electrifying glare.

“Kgh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Kaito grumbles, well aware both his sweethearts have much a higher sex drive than he can handle.

Too keyed up to focus on much but Kokichi’s digit making circles around the head, or Shuichi moaning sweetly in his ear (both five star distractions), Kaito barks more harshly than he means.

“A-are you gonna climb on top or what?”

When Kokichi’s tsk’ing and clicking his tongue, Kaito’s squirming under his hand.

“Well, now look who’s eager,” Kokichi ribs, sitting his palm against the top of Kaito’s dick before curling his fingers around and shifting it like a joystick. “Oh, can’t I play with you just a bit more, Momo-chan?”

Shuichi takes a slow, even breath, pretty pliant all things considered when dealing with their spats but a _little_ less forgiving when his favorite method of stress relief is obstructed. His eyebrows knit together sharp as he passively clings a little harder to Kaito. Hand cramping between Shuichi’s tightening legs, Kaito’s hips vibrate with enough frustration to make him cry. His eyes shut tight.

_“Kokichi.”_

Giggling aloud at Kaito’s waspish tone, Kokichi pats his dick like a puppy and hops off the bed.

“Riiight, getting a rubber.”

It’s almost sad to say that Shuichi’s off in his own world, typically gone while those two bicker. He disappears sometimes, Kaito notices, and sometimes he thinks that Shuichi needs the necessary leave of absence from his brain. He’s clinging like cellophane to Kaito’s arm and bounding against it with a quiet need. If Shuichi is ever in the middle, these two get competitive and fucking is impossible. If Kokichi is in the middle, it’s never for long and he hates being fawned over. Their only working arrangement is when Kaito’s between them both. It’s too often now that the two of them give him a cramp in his hands.

Grimacing at the dull ache throbbing through his right hand, Kaito grunts and kisses the side of Shuichi’s temple apologetically.

“Babe- my hand’s… c’mere.”

Muttering softly, Kaito retracts his fingers only to meet eye to eye with a very lust-sick Shuichi, who sighs and arches his back against the air slackly. In no time at all Kaito is laying down upon his back. When he reaches his hands out to snatch Shuichi by the hips, the detective (hesitantly) knows exactly where to go.

Kokichi makes his way back to find Shuichi seated overtop Kaito’s face, grinding down into his mouth and sobbing out songs. Hand finding its way to his own popped hip, Kokichi stares dully, eyes glazed over with ice and mouth frowning soft.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to get back? Jeez, and here I thought we were all about teamwork in this house,” Kokichi laments, spitting some classic Kaito only to find he isn’t in proper form to reply.

He’s not envious at all of the hand rubbing small circles into the small of Shuichi’s back, nor the other that is tugging Shuichi’s body into his, gripping tight enough to leave his thigh raising between each knuckle. Kokichi doesn’t feel lonesome watching Shuichi hissing out love through his teeth, or miffed by the way Kaito’s lavishing so earnest.

How could he ever be?

Marching up to the bed, Kokichi tears open the packet with his teeth and forgets about the little routine he’d planned on. He forgets about how he’d thought about making a big show of it and teasing Kaito with it all, salaciously sliding the condom on with his mouth, sly and slow. He doesn’t bother, knowing that his attention is _elsewhere_ and makes it a point to snag more than a few of his hairs as he tugs the condom over top of him. It rolls on easy from the slickness already there.

“Huh! You’re just greedy tonight, huh, Sai-chan?” Kokichi jeers, reaching around from behind to grope at Shuichi’s chest.

Shuichi, more than aware that Kokichi’s feeling a little jealous, can’t help but feel bad that his attempts at humiliating him just feels good. That’s what he’s always been good at and what he can provide that Kaito really can’t. Kaito’s much too kind to ever give Shuichi anything but sweetness. It’s Kokichi who twists his nipples until they’re purple and giggles into his ear, “you’re just soooo horny you can’t think about _anything_ else, huh?”

All the while, Kaito’s muffled by the boy over top of him. Each of his hands are caressing and squeezing Shuichi’s hips. His tongue isn’t so much circling the same one spot as it is lapping up and down, fast enough to be better than most of the vibrators they own. Shuichi’s snatching the sheets and trying to not lose himself, at least not _completely._ The pleasure combined with the little bit of pain is perfect.

The only way to get through sex with either of them is to seek his own pleasure. It’s a haze he gets in momentarily that doesn’t last for long. He knows once he cums, he’ll go back to fussing anyways. All he wants right now is to feel Kaito’s tongue in his guts. Kokichi’s grip is lighting his senses on fire, and one particularly desperate sounding moan slips out accidental and soft, and Kaito quavers from it’s timbre.

Releasing Shuichi, Kokichi swings his legs around and lines himself up with Kaito, angling the rubber up with his body and finding the dip between his legs. He rotates his hips around with care, imagining to himself that Kaito’s waiting with baited breath to finally enter him now. Kokichi licks his lips quick.

“I know you’re hungry, Momo-chan, but are you ready for the _main course?_ ” he asks with only a vague sound of mild acknowledgment coming out of Kaito, like he tried to say something but Shuichi closed his legs around his head instantly to shush him.

Kokichi lowers down and Kaito slips inside painfully slow. His thighs strain as he spreads to accommodate him, and Kaito jitters against him. Wheezing like the air is being squeezed out of him, Kokichi thinks that he’s going to lose his mind every time. It’s not fair of Kaito to be packing this much. Shouldn’t this asshole be compensating for something? Digging his nails into Kaito’s stomach, Kokichi wriggles and feels his walls widen up bit by bit.

As wet as he is, Kaito still slides in easier than some nights. With a frustrated smile, Kokichi gasps out, _“itadakimasu,”_ and Kaito makes a frustrated groan as he bottoms out. Kokichi thinks that was the sound of Kaito rolling his eyes- either in annoyance or rolling them back with pleasure. Either will do.

One of Kaito’s hands chases Kokichi’s hip bone and snatches it tight, and he fights the urge to thrust up into Kokichi. Pride swelling in his chest, Kokichi rolls around on top, grinding with the fullness sending sparks through his skin. The moment Kaito jumps his hips up and rolls Kokichi’s against him, Kokichi realizes there’s no feeling like it at all.

As much as he holds it over his dear Kaito’s head that he could easily replace him at any time with a 4 function vibrator, he really can’t get thrusted into quite this good on his own.

Losing focus, Kaito doesn’t take it offensively when Shuichi’s plucking his hand up and showing his fingers where to go.

“Here,” he says shakingly, very direct when he wants to be, letting Kaito’s tongue explore his depths while his thumb presses and kneads his clit.

Greedy and eager to please, Kaito follows after and soon Shuichi’s singing louder, freely rocking his pelvis into Kaito and gritting his teeth. Shuichi by nature _isn’t_ very loud, at least not when it’s the three of them. Tonight though, there’s enough distance to feel like them two. It’s the same distance Kokichi feels, gyrating his hips against Kaito like he’s in his own world. Even as he presses his hands to Shuichi’s shoulders, it’s a passive motion.

Somehow… this works to his favor.

Kokichi realizes there are no eyes on him, ogling him or fawning over him. There’s a pounding in his pelvis and a loving hand holding him dear but nothing too attached. It feels the right kind of _detached_ actually. Even as Shuichi lifts a single hand from the bed to rest against one of Kokichi’s, it isn’t too tender. It doesn’t feel trapped. As Kaito tugs him into his thrusts again and again, silent but for the moans he now muffles into Shuichi’s thighs, Kokichi feels a startling comfort. He wants to be fucked like this every night for the rest of his life.

Knowing that Kaito can’t see him and neither can Shuichi, Kokichi widens his legs a bit and lets his body roll freely, bouncing and slamming into Kaito’s hips once more, and more, and letting his self-control fade. There’s no need to perform or worry about anyone seeing too much vulnerability from him. He can just let himself enjoy this, and he does. Kokichi allows himself a few sharp noises that shake out of his chest on accident and relishes in the way Kaito’s hips start snapping up to meet him, his grip becoming restless.

The echoes of sweaty skin slapping are embarrassingly loud, and for once, there’s no talking. Kaito’s lapping up Shuichi’s juices happily and Kokichi isn’t being threatened with uncomfortable intimacy by the man who can’t have sex without holding hands. Shuichi thinks this is the most mild-mannered fuck they’ve ever had. It crosses his mind as his fingers mingle with Kokichi’s, wondering to himself why he’s gone so silent now.

Lying between these two boys, Kaito feels utterly smothered. His high stamina has always been his selling point, but even now, the warmth coiling in his gut is getting harder and harder to ignore. Knowing that his thumb circling into Shuichi’s clit is making his cunt that much wetter on his lips is driving him wild. Kaito makes a warm moan, tasting hot delicious heaven as he suctions his lips, listening in as Shuichi mewls back at him. The boy shivering and shaking above his head is like an angel, and he can tell he’s getting close by the way his body goes terribly still, like he’s trying so hard to not jerk and jump.

Retracting his hand from Kokichi’s hip momentarily, he strokes the delicate dimples of Shuichi’s back where he knows it’s sensitive, staring up at the other boy with a delightfully coy pair of eyes that never fail to charm him. Shuichi covers his mouth on instinct but cums, sudden and hard. He tries not to grind Kaito’s head into dust and simply shudders through his whole body, leaning backwards and then forwards and clinging to the sheets. He cries sharp into his hand, biting into the space between his thumb and palm a little. Shuichi loves the way Kaito rides him down easy, letting his motions turn slower and slower until it’s all gone. Panting with exertion, Shuichi crumbles to the side, letting his body go boneless beside Kaito who takes a deep breath as soon as he can.

His devil is not far behind- making the entire bed jostle and shake from how roughly he’s rocking into Kaito. Kokichi won’t be loud, usually, unless he’s making some kind of show or faking to make Kaito feel better about his prowess in bed. Tonight he feels something special, and while Kaito can be utterly brainless in bed, Kokichi’s more than willing to take advantage of where he’s especially _gifted._

At this point, his thighs are starting to burn and ache. They tremble around Kaito’s waist as he pushes his body to ride, more ragdoll than human in search of his high. Hearing Kaito let out a shambling breath, Kokichi’s hip stutters, catching on the sound and converting it into pleasure, steadily feeding his ego.

“F… Haah, Momo-chan,” Kokichi calls out, finally seeing the man eye to eye, knowing that he’ll only feel satisfied if he can make the other man orgasm. “Are you g-gonna cum?” he asks, his voice sickeningly saccharine, more than conscious that Kaito _hates_ it.

Kaito wipes his mouth and forces himself half-upright, squeezing Kokichi’s hip punishingly, hard enough to bruise. Kokichi yelps when a particularly hard thrust slides through him, and he’s seeing stars all over their shared ceiling. Chasing that sound, Kaito bucks up again, and smiles to himself as Kokichi lets a small whimper escape.

“I’m- _Ah-”_ Kokichi starts, his brain becoming jumbled with the things he wants to say.

“Yeah?” Kaito asks, free to banter back with his love now that his mouth is off pussy duty.

The smaller man’s always so wordy, _dirty_ when becoming undone but he can’t find the words now. Kaito’s snatching his body up with bigger hands and tugging Kokichi into him. His lips melt into Kokichi’s throat and kiss and leave all manner of marks. Kaito rolls his hips faster into Kokichi, running his hands all over, eager and hungry and _impatient._ Everything up until now was such a tease.

Instead of taunting Kaito like he wants, Kokichi loses himself fast. His peak comes rushing up to meet him and he can’t resist crying in a silent scream as his body shudders all over. Kaito grinds his teeth hard, victim to the walls spasming around him. Bright white flashes behind his eyes and his frame goes rigid. Kokichi gasps in and holds it in, letting the jagged, uneven thrusts from Kaito take him down from his high.

They both collapse in a heap. They both suck in their breaths like they’ve ran a marathon and sweat into each other’s pores.

Sheepishly, Shuichi crawls to where they both lay, resting his head up against Kokichi’s shoulder and staring up at Kaito. The sweat adorning all of their bodies sticks them together like glue. First things first, Kaito lifts his head up from where it’s nestled into Kokichi’s shoulder and he plants a firm kiss on the top of his head.

“I love… you both,” he says, still finding his breath, and Kokichi grumbles.

“Tonight was so good Momo-chan, and you haaaad to ruin it with _that_ gushy shit,” complains Kokichi, softened though by the presence of Shuichi at his side. “Though… I suppose, we both love you too, maybe”

Shuichi makes a small, quiet smile- brain completely blank and still charging back up. He knows Kokichi’s only speaking for him because it’s easier to say than _I_ love you, but he’s thankful for it.

Pulling out of Kokichi and rolling to his side, he sidles up against Kokichi’s side, flanking him opposite Shuichi. Exhausted but gleeful, he chuckles some.

“You two are gonna drive me crazy.”

“This _stink_ is gonna drive me crazy. It smells like ballsack in here,” Kokichi grouses.

“We just had sex, all three of us,” Shuichi reminds.

“Yeah, but only one of us has a ballsack. Momo-chan, go fucking bathe.”

“Fuck off,” he murmurs, inoffensively and noncommittal, snuggling his body into Kokichi’s side.

“Ewwww! Get off! Stop being _gay_. Sai-chan, Momo-chan’s being _gay._ ”

“Sure am,” Kaito sighs into Kokichi’s hair.

Shuichi rolls his eyes, thankful in a strange way that things don’t really ever change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "what do you hate most about this fic?" the fact that i typed pussy duty.
> 
> i'm posting much more content lately because i am finally out of school for a whole month before i go back, so it's time to get out all the writing i can before i'm trapped again!
> 
> sorry if i got the dynamic wrong. im not sure how saioumota works all the time but i attempted it!


	26. Amamota | He Doesn't Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Kissing, Poetic (kinda?)  
> spoilers: none
> 
> i have no idea where this came from, paused during saioumota week stuff to spit this out... l-love them amamotas...

Kaito shys back from the kiss, eyelashes flickering in revelation as the other boy cradles the back of his head. The cool metal of Rantaro's rings sleep against his neck. He shivers, delightful, confused but… inspired.

“You…”

Smiling, laughing through his nose but— subtle and anything but tongue in cheek, Rantaro tilts his head some.

“Hm?”

There’s a temptation to reach up and touch his own lips, remember the emotion and the sensation, because Kaito isn’t quite sure. Perchance he blissed out for ten seconds, imagined it all. Rantaro’s so blithe and unfettered. Kaito sweats. His teeth chatter. He giggles nervous in a way most unfitting he’d think, but in a way most charming to Rantaro, and his face fills with blood.

“You, uh… you kissed me?” he asks.

Rantaro chuckles back now, merrily, letting his forehead bump against Kaito’s like they’re two lovers and not friends.

“Yeah?” he says. “Gee, I would’ve _hoped_ you’d notice, Momota-kun.”

Brain flitting about in the stars and nowhere near Earth, Kaito’s mouth fills with stardust— tastes like cotton and makes it hard to breathe, and he finds his hands rested close to Rantaro’s hips like anchors. They’re all that's anchoring himself to the ground.

The laughter colors him, pinks and reds and… _surprise_ and, green— new to all of this. Kaito pouts in kind.

“Y-yeah, I was just making sure… that you knew what you were doing.”

“Mmmm,” Rantaro hums, opening his eyes and gazing up at Kaito, nearly vampish and coy; Kaito trembles under his stare. “Might just do it again.”

Every little bubble in Kaito’s mind pops pastel and pointless. Are they friends? Is this okay? Is this wrong? Are they gay?

Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.

Rantaro’s lips on his taste of green tea, taste of something potent, almost sour, but addictive and pleasant and soon Kaito’s pouring into his lap. He’s never sat on a boy’s lap before and drank in his breath, felt unbothered by his spit, been comforted by his hands coaxing his hips into his.

It’s terrifyingly gratifying, Rantaro’s air-light touches, through the hair plastered to the back of his neck with sweat and through the jacket he’s tugging down from off of his shoulders… and soon Kaito learns how to smile with his throat.


	27. Saimota | Hungry Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Cooking, Established Relationship, Making Out, Domestic Fluff  
> spoilers: none
> 
> the otp strikes again

Licking his lips, Shuichi eyes the kitchen from across the room. His eyes zero in on the the tall, dark, and handsome fellow whipping up breakfast in such an awful rush. Two earbuds blot out all the sound around him. To the dulcet tunes of 80s Wham! he seasons a pair of sunny side-up eggs with a dash of the wrist that qualifies more as a dance move than proper form, Shuichi thinks.

Still, the scent from the frying pan draws him near.

Back to his book, he says to himself. … But how interesting could Minato Kanae be when his boyfriend was standing right there, dancing around the kitchen like a chef.

It’s so distracting. _He’s_ so distracting. No matter what Kaito’s doing, he has to make the utmost show of it, even when no one is watching.

Well, Shuichi _is_ watching but Kaito doesn’t know that! Or… he shouldn’t. Checking the back of his fluffy head for any third or fourth eyes, Shuichi confirms this. His eyes travel down to spot the crisp musculature of his upper back, shifting beneath the transparent fabric of Kaito’s off-white tank— _oh, those triceps flexing are going to drive him mad._

Crossing his legs, Shuichi drags his eyes back down.

_Just sit and wait for breakfast._

Shuichi’s stomach grumbles, and he can’t help but agree on both a physical and… special level. He is starving.

The pop of the toaster has Shuichi nearly leaping out of his skin. So wound up, his knee jerks and slams into the table. Kaito blinks, yanking a earbud out to hollar back at Shuichi, “you alright over there?”

A weak chuckle chokes him.

“Y-yeah. Just… saw a bug.”

“Eugh, do we gotta get that guy to come and spray the place again?” Kaito asks, retrieving the toast and cracking open the tub of butter in record time with a spoon.

“No… that won’t be necessary,” Shuichi reassures, looking on as Kaito scoops the butter and spreads it with ease; Kaito’s the only person Shuichi’s ever seen apply it with a spoon.

Maybe being a tad eccentric is what makes a good cook, he thinks, watching Kaito splat a big heaping splat of ketchup and spicy brown mustard all over his eggs. Suppressing a gag, Shuichi squints extra hard at the other plate, confirming that his has none.

Convincing his boyfriend to only lightly salt his eggs was one of the more mammoth tasks to ask of him. Kaito’s a seasoning freak. He can never have the same herbs on the same foods for too long without wanting to try new things. The good thing is that the kitchen is always aromatic and zesty. Shuichi can appreciate the scents. It’s only the tastes that the man has no interest in.

The food’s nearly done and Shuichi gets up to pluck a glass from the cabinet. He doesn’t need Kaito to do everything for him.

Once his hand has reached for the handle, Kaito’s already yanked it out of his hand, and in two seconds flat he’s swept Shuichi into a little ballroom dance. Shuichi stumbles and yelps as Kaito wraps a hand around his side, humming along to the music only he can hear and rocking side to side with his boyfriend following after.

“H-hey,” Shuichi starts, giggling something charmed at the smug little smile Kaito’s got.

His eyes aren’t even open.

Kaito twirls him deftly and Shuichi tags along with, stepping less fluidly and more like an estranged penguin to Kaito’s smooth and silly moves. Without warning, Kaito dips him.

“K-Kaito, don’t drop me,” blurts Shuichi, and Kaito makes a loud _pffbt_ with his mouth like he’s motorboating the air.

“I won’t drop you,” he says with a snort. “Just who do you think I am?”

Adorably, Shuichi’s hands reach up to pluck his buds out. Each palm of his presses into the sides of Kaito’s face, feeling the silk of his sideburns and the soft stubble from where he hasn’t shaved yet. The gentle lilac of his eyes, always— _always_ offset by the twinkle of stardust in them, never fail to charm his heart every day that Shuichi wakes to see them. Shuichi smiles in his teeth and in the crinkle of his nose.

“My fiancé of the stars?”

“That’s right! Kaito Momota, Luu…”

The words register in Kaito’s cosmic brain and all the color in his body rushes to the front of his face. His fingertips shiver and his hands nearly go slack. Shuichi’s certain he can almost see steam evacuate his head and he clings to Kaito’s tank top tighter.

“H-hey, I said _don’t_ drop me!” he laughs, relishing in the way Kaito’s looking at him now— love-burnt and coy with each brow curling up.

“I s-said I won’t,” Kaito insists, eyes big and heart-heavy moments before he cradles Shuichi up to him.

And when they kiss, it’s always like this— it’s always a gentle but needful supernova of feelings. Kaito’s got so many of them. Shuichi’s arms lasso around Kaito’s neck with eagerness and when Kaito tugs him off the ground and seats him up on top of the counter, he fits both palms against the ridges of Shuichi's ribs.

Kaito trails his tongue against Shuichi’s bottom lip, holding back a pout as he pillows Shuichi’s hand against his cheek. His eyes are puppy-like and endearing.

“See?”

Shuichi raises a brow.

“Did I really bother you that much?” he asks, and Kaito huffs into his hand, planting a kiss into Shuichi’s palm and feeling his fingers curl back pleasantly.

“Hmf… it was one time.”

Ah, that’s it. Recalling their last shower escapade, Shuichi feels heat pool beneath the fabric of his collar and he quivers back and forth with unease.

“Oh,” he breathes. “W-well…”

They both chuckle a little, and Shuichi tries to ignore how cozy he feels sat on the counter like so. Kaito’s smiling back at him so sweetly, with that love-sick stare like he’d do anything for him— like he’d go anywhere for him. Shuichi feels a pulse run through his core. He dares to pull Kaito just a little bit closer and pecks at his lips. Their eyes meet again and Kaito reads the pleading in them.

Without even having to ask, Kaito comes the rest of the way for him and presses his lips deliciously into Shuichi’s soft invitation. Resting his arms down on either side of Shuichi, Kaito leaves no space between him and the counter, or between him and Shuichi. Their breaths mingle and Shuichi’s eyes flutter shut with desire. His hips scoot to the edge of the counter and he wraps both legs around his man.

It’s delightful, the way Shuichi’s thighs sort of ache at simply coiling his legs around. It’s pleasant, that there’s enough of Kaito to make it not such an easy task. Running his hands up and down Kaito’s cheeks, Kaito’s throat, Kaito’s stubble and the veins in his neck— Shuichi makes a terrible little sound, something anxious and something _needy,_ and Kaito reaches for the dip in his side. The skin there is hot beneath his night-shirt and Shuichi hums approvingly.

Kaito speaks into his mouth.

“C'mon, babe. Your food's getting cold.”

“Wh… Huh?”

Shuichi’s eyes open. Blinking back confusion and sexual frustration, his irises bounce back to their idle plates, attracting stale air and dust.

“O-oh,” he gasps.

What he wants to say: _are you fucking kidding me, Kaito?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kaito is sexually stupid.


	28. Saimota | Overzealous [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Rough Oral Sex, Bad Sex, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot  
> spoilers: none
> 
> saimota have Really Bad Sex

Seconds after Shuichi has tugged Kaito’s bottom lip out and pecked his chin, thirsty and wet, he’s shuffling further down and marveling at every indent in his skin— every way his stomach hair bristles at Shuichi’s hot breath and every curve of his hip bone that fits so perfect in his mouth.

Kaito’s panting ragged, yanking his shirt up the rest of the way to get a gander at what Shuichi’s even doing down there. Is that… what you normally do? Kiss and suckle at the skin just centimeters above the belt? And draw the daintiest little welts up that are scantily visible on his darkened complexion. All the while, his boyfriend’s digits tremble. He undoes Kaito’s belt and button with trepidation. Shuichi’s mouth travels further down, mouth pressed into the bramble below while Kaito’s trousers take a tumble.

It’s obvious now to say the least— Kaito’s erection blooming and resting up against his right hip. Even as Shuichi tugs his boxer briefs down to tease at his flesh, the head of his cock is swiftly turning the red in one particular star a deep maroon.

Resting his hand in Shuichi’s hair, his mouth slurs on the words as his brain scrambles to supply them.

“Sh… Shuichi, y-you really wanna do this?” he asks, the tremor in his cadence both proof of arousal and of anxiety.

He’s never been given a… blowjob.

God, even the word for it feels too much to consider. Kaito’s head wobbles with fantasies. His dick throbs at the thought of Shuichi’s tongue pressed up against it and as if on cue, he chides himself for it.

_Gross, no, you can’t let him do that. He doesn’t have to do that—_

Shuichi’s already plucking the waistband and sliding it down as he snatches the base of Kaito’s cock. The astronaut chokes at the cold air sending little threads of lightning shooting down through the head of his dick. Shuichi’s quick to kiss it slow, lips suctioning to the running vein underneath, and Kaito’s hand stiffens. His fingers anxiously rub through Shuichi’s scalp— unwilling to grab his hair or force his head but smoothing his hand over feverishly with his mounting arousal _building._

And still, Shuichi’s not answered his question, so Kaito asks again: “Shuichi— you… you _wanna—”_

“I wanna make you happy,” he blurts, face freezing in terror as if he’s afraid he’s just said the most unsexy thing on Earth.

Shuichi licks all the way to the head, his hand resting on the top-side of his dick giving gentle caresses. And he restates it as, “I want to make you f-feel really good.”

Oh, Shuichi can’t say those things with such a cute look on his face. Kaito feels his heart pulsate in his ears and in his hips. His pelvis rolls, involuntary, and Kaito’s breath catches fire in his throat as Shuichi swallows up the head.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Shuichi wants to suck his dick.

Shuichi _is_ sucking his dick.

_Oh god, I’m getting my dick sucked by my first ever boyfriend. Oh shit, what do I do with my hands? Where do I put them? What do I—_

Pain sears through him.

Kaito winces up and yelps out a series of ‘ah, ah, ah!’s as Shuichi takes his first go at it. Maybe ‘suck’ was too literal of a word. Spitting him out suddenly, Shuichi glances up doe-eyed and petrified.

“What happened?” he asks.

Reaching down to give his dick a quick nurse, massaging the head and rubbing around it real slow, Kaito takes a deep breath.

“I— I’ve never… y’know, done this before but I don’t… I don’t know if you’re supposed to actually, uh, suck,” Kaito says, his pitch picking up further and further with each passing second, watching as Shuichi’s face turns paler and paler.

Chuckling nervously, Kaito ruffles Shuichi’s hair.

“D-Don’t worry about it, sidekick. I think you can give it another try if you want. Maybe just… don’t suck like… l-like it’s a straw,” he laughs out. “It kinda suctions my dick to your teeth when you do that.”

Kaito doesn’t know how he’s done it, but Shuichi’s eyes lie at half-mast now and he’s wresting Kaito’s dick from out of his own grasp. He pumps it like he’s angry at it and he only deviates from glaring at Kaito to glare at his cock, drawing a confused grunt out of him.

“Shuichi—?”

“You know we’re dating right?” Shuichi says, rotating his wrist around as his fingers slick themselves up on the pre-cum crying out of the head. “Do you have to call me things like ‘sidekick’ and… and give me little head pats while I’m trying to… do this?”

Quirking a brow, Kaito struggles to steady his hips and keep his mouth shut. Through his nose he lets out the quietest puffs of hot air, breathing uneven and sharp as Shuichi strokes him with celerity.

Is he mad or is he not?

“I… I mean, I guess it’s weird to do that. It probably is,” Kaito admits, finding it hard to argue a point against Shuichi’s gentle pressure and deft palm.

Lapping up little tears, Shuichi tastes salt and faint acid. Shuichi strokes faster and he swirls his tongue around poorly. His tongue keeps slipping off the edge and he supposes he must actually look pretty silly. He digs his tongue into the slit. Kaito quivers up and runs his fingers back through the bangs of his hair, searching for a glimpse at the way Shuichi’s tonguing him hard.

Kaito’s hips jump, and he moans into his palm— tightly fastened to his face.

“I want you… ah, to think of me differently when I do this,” Shuichi says, jacking Kaito off into his open mouth— wishing so badly that he would let it gush onto his tongue. “I want you to want to… to _fuck_ me,” he whispers _just_ loud enough for Kaito to hear before he muffles himself on his cock.

And it slides halfway down Shuichi’s throat.

The astronaut sees stars all over the ceiling as he throws his head back, slamming his dome into the wall. Hurt splinters through his whole head and harsh vibrations ripple through his dick all at once. Shuichi sputters and chokes, letting Kaito’s dick flop back out of his mouth. He gags into his hands and gulps down heavy lungfuls of air. Kaito blinks back fear, training his eyes on the sight of Shuichi coughing up all the tickles at the back of his windpipe.

“What… what are you doing?” Kaito asks in worry, pain radiating through every crack in his split head.

Shuichi doesn’t answer. His mouth finds Kaito’s length once more and kisses it slow. Broken breath carries on through his nostrils and soon, he’s throating him again. Kaito winces with bittersweet pleasure.

Oh, that really _does_ feel good but Shuichi’s soon retching again. Despite this, Shuichi’s fingers cling to each hip and dig in. His nails rake and his body fights the way his throat shivers. He bobs his head.

Still a little too heavy on the teeth, Kaito grits his own and he reaches down to find the top of Shuichi’s shoulder. He gives the detective a gentle shake and tries to fix his voice enough to be heard loud and clear. It still quivers up with the sharp sensation of pleasure and pain.

“Shuichi— H-hey, relax. Calm down. You don’t gotta do all this.”

Kaito cradles the side of his face.

“I’m all good, y-you don’t have to keep—”

Zig-zagging his tongue in such a rapid pattern against the side of Kaito’s dick, Shuichi slurps up _loud._

Oh god, are people supposed to make noises like that?

Kaito bites his upper lip, grimacing as Shuichi lathers every inch of his dick with a level of greed that Kaito’s never seen. That isn’t a whole lot considering this is his first blowjob, but he isn’t sure you’re supposed to hurt yourself like that.

Whatever boner he has is kinda waning every time Shuichi’s teeth sorta rake or he coughs into his skin.

Taking a deep breath, the astronaut folds.

“Sh-Shuichi, stop. Stop,” he demands.

Hesitantly, his boyfriend slides his mouth off. Shuichi coughs and Kaito lifts one hand to hold his dick close to his stomach. The other dips down to tilt Shuichi’s face up to his. In the detective’s eyes is a silly sort of desperation and an anxiety too. Huffing and puffing down his breaths like they’re secondary to everything else, Shuichi’s eyebrows knit up.

And he poses his question like there’s no right answer.

“Was I doing it wrong?”

Closing his eyes, Kaito’s smile is amused but oblique.

“I… I don’t know what’s the right way, but uh… I just think I’m not used to receiving and not giving.”

That horseshit doesn’t hold a bit of weight.

Shuichi mumbles a soft, “yeah, I’ve… no idea how to do this.”

Kaito cringes tentatively.

“Neither do I. I don’t think that we should have to sweat that stuff though.”

A silence coats the space between them.

Soon, Kaito’s yanking Shuichi up to his level. Both standing, Kaito’s smile feels a little bit realer— fills up the entirety of his face and not just the mouth-parts. Each hand of his firmly snatches the carefully placed spaces in Shuichi’s ribs, where his knuckles fit perfectly, and he sounds earnest when he says, “I don’t think either of us gotta be experts at this.”

Those words are better said than felt, at least in Shuichi’s case. He tugs at a single tuft of hair that lies in the same general area as where the corner of his baseball cap used to sit. His mouth chews on itself.

“I guess.”

Pouting, Kaito pecks Shuichi’s forehead, and his tone comes out buoyant but bothered.

“You guess?”

Shuichi laughs mirthlessly.

“Is there a proper way to react to someone telling you that you’re… bad at sex?”

Kaito seizes each of Shuichi’s shoulders with all the quickness of a meteorite. He’s utterly unafraid.

“You’re not bad at anything! You’re just inexperienced! Hell, I’m inexperienced too! As bad as you are at giving a blowjob, I’m just as bad at _getting_ a blowjob! Both of us just have to… I g-guess do this stuff more often so… so we get to knowin’ about what the other person wants.”

Some of that made no sense, but even watching the way Kaito’s ears turn pink and his cheeks glow bright as he grows quieter and smaller makes Shuichi’s heart warble. He just smiles a bit crookedly, like Kaito’s just such… a funny kinda guy, but he still takes him at his word.

Kaito forces a wide grin.

“Y-yeah! Communication is important! Not just for astronaut trainees but for sexual partners too! A-any partners really! The more you talk, the more you learn, the better you all cooperate! Sex is the same as any other mission that a team has to tackle together. No one person’s say is the most important one. What’s important is that everyon—”

“Shut up,” Shuichi says, and he affixes his lips tightly over Kaito’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blame ao3 user c*rgasb*rd


	29. Oumota | Terrible Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: PTA AU, Single Dad  
> spoilers: none
> 
> friend taunted me with the idea of oumota parent/teacher au where oumas a teacher and momota is the parent who hates his kids teacher. they argue all the damn time. ouma gives kid a pisspoor grade for no reason just to get at momota (he'll bring it back up!! hes just Playing).

Ouma wriggles atop his perch overlooking all the planes of Momota’s face, etched in perfect sarcasm. He runs his fingers down the length of his well-cut jaw much like Momota blinks back at him, languid and… with a threat behind them. Momota’s eyebrows knit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he bites, and Ouma simpers sly and slow.

“I just think you haven’t been needed for _such_ a long time,” Ouma insists. “A lonesome single dad taking care of Hokuto all by himself— don’t you miss being appreciated?”

For words so honeyed, Ouma sure is holding Momota’s face in his hands the way he’d hold a big dog’s slobbering mouth, or an oversized hot dog— pinching his cheeks up as he scowls back at him.

“And you call this appreciation?”

“Of sorts,” Ouma says. “I’m listening to your request, aren’t I? To change up that grade?”

Tapping the jut of his chin with a rhythmic finger, Ouma bounces in place less like a teacher and more like a child himself.

“What was it that you always liked to say, Momota-chan?” he asks, driving a groan out of the other man (who’s reprimanded him plenty of times about calling him that). “Oh, right. I could be _nastier_ but for the sake of my kid, I won’t be.”

Ouma’s words come out slick, practiced. Momota blinks with incredulity.

“I’ve… never said that.”

“Yeah, I wrote that line for you,” Ouma says gleaming. “I thought it’d fit the little roleplay we’ve got going on.”

“Is— is this a _game_ to you? Are you just _trying_ to piss me off now?” Momota sputters, not caring for his volume even at such a close proximity, where they’re hips are meeting just at the precipice of the desk.

Covering up Momota’s big mouth with his small hands, Ouma gives Momota a strong shove and smirks.

“The question you need to be asking me is what can you do this time to improve your little boy’s chances of passing this class.”

Was Ouma really going to hold it against some little boy for the faults of his father? Not a chance. After all, before the semester was through, he was bound to adjust that one foul grade anyways. It was all a dance. It was a means of getting the other man’s attention— a bait. And now he was biting, and rolling his eyes as he takes somewhat of a rehearsed stance and begins to kiss up his neck. It’s slow and stubbly but once Ouma sighs, the motions become less perfunctory and more human.

And the teacher is giggling into it.

“I think you like being bossed around _Momota-san._ ”

Momota nips his collarbone.

“Now you just sound too formal.”

Shrugging theatrically, Ouma throws his legs open.

“Bossy bossy! I see where the little stubborn one gets it from! Never wants to share his bentos with the other kids either.”

Ouma’s blouse goes unbuttoned, and Momota clicks his tongue with disdain as he levels a pair of disgusted eyes with him.

“If you’re gonna make me do this, maybe don’t talk about my kid at the same time,” he grouses.

“I’m not making you do anyth— Ah—!”

Momota pulls Ouma’s small frame into his, secretly delighting in the way he can make him shiver through his slacks, now riding up his shins, bunching around his hips as he locks legs around waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i only just now realized that every fic here has used first names and this one uses last names.
> 
> thats bc i wrote this on 24 hours no sleep folks sry bout the inconsistency but this is a drabble dump so its not a big deal


	30. Saimota | In Lieu Of [18+]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Trans Male Character, Trans Shuichi Saihara, Vaginal Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot  
> spoilers: none
> 
> i dont have something prepared for shuichis bday so... the boy gets laid. happy birthday shuichi!!
> 
> yeah no this is really senseless smut i wasnt gonna post really.

With hands fighting to find purchase against the silken bed sheets, Shuichi curls his spine back. His hips meet again with Kaito’s own laid supine, and Kaito’s grip is loose with clemency. With _mercy_.

If only Shuichi were privy to how badly he wanted to squeeze his skin just a little bit tighter— feel every pore of his hip lift buoyantly between each finger as he tugs, and _thrusts_ , and dives deeper inside.

Shuichi’s thighs ache. His innards cry and pulse— _more_ , _harder_ , _faster_ —

“Kaito,” he hisses, bouncing with abandon as his arms straighten up against the bed behind him. “ _Kaito_ ,” he whimpers as the furthest little button at his core is abused, and punished, and _loved_.

His lover can’t fit all the way in without snapping his hips up into that unbreakable wall.

Was this supposed to hurt, Shuichi wonders dimly. His body craves the way Kaito’s own fills him out, spreads him fully and makes his insides burn with pleasant pain. Shuichi chokes up his wants and his needs and they fall out in pleas he can’t mold into more dignified phrasing. It’s all just, ‘ _please_.’

_Please_ , _Kaito_ , _faster_.

_Please_ , _do me harder_.

Sex-drunk and sloppy, Shuichi moans something desperate— something high in his throat that erupts from deep in his gut. Rapt in utter self-indulgence, he rocks his body with an insatiable craving and feels Kaito seize his bones tighter, trying to fit himself as far deep as he can until they both become one— until they both come unglued.

“Fuck— Shu…”

Kaito's voice quivers. Shuichi rasps a breath in sharp.

“Shuichi, I’m close, _fuck_ … _Fuck_ , I’ve gotta—”

“Please, cum inside me,” Shuichi spills. “D-don’t pull out please— _please_ , cum inside me, _please_ —!!”

All sense and reason leaves him, there’s only here and now, him and this. And Shuichi delights in how Kaito tenses tight and he buries himself so terribly deep that Shuichi thinks he's about to split down the middle. It’s good. It’s so wrong that it feels this good.

Just a few twitches up with his fingers pressed down into his clit and Shuichi feels his whole body shutter and flicker like he’s not real, like the pleasure that he feels is otherworldly and impossible.

That’s how being with Kaito feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna get to the requests soon, my college semester is back in full force so bear with me!


	31. Oumota | Told Ya So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: Alternate Universe - Ballet  
> spoilers: none
> 
> i just... uhhhhh wwant oumota dancing and ouma having to trust momota its good

“C’mon, Ouma, there’s gotta be trust between us for this to work,” Momota says, eyebrows crinkling together as he shields his eyes from the other man’s impressively punchable face. “You’ve gotta let me lift you.”

This falls out of Momota’s mouth as he pauses mid-stretch— one leg pointed with the other angled back behind him. Both of his hands firmly wrapped around the barre before him.

“It doesn’t have to be _you,_ ” Ouma contends all the while, ears perking like a kitten to the long-winded squeak of Momota sucking his teeth above his tongue.

Momota screws up his eyes and peers across the hardwood floor with a pronounced puzzlement.

“It does though. The instructor chose me.”

Wafting his wrist back through the air with all the carelessness of a wealthy beneficiary, Ouma kicks his legs and lets them slap against the polished ground.

“Details, details, Momota-chan.”

“It’s a double cabriole into a fish dive,” he levels plainly, dropping down onto both heels and ending his pose. “You can’t…” Momota gestures angrily, less like he’s trying to devise proper wording and more like he’s pantomiming how to murder his partner. “Dip yourself.”

Ouma snorts. He fans the air with a lift of his brow.

“Like I’d willingly let you go and drop me.”

“I _wouldn’t—_ ”

“There’s no way I’d let you take me me through all the momentum of that run and jump and then dip me onto my head. What’s a big ape like you doing trying to be a ballet dancer anyways? You’re hardly flexible—”

Cutting himself off, the tinier ballet dancer scans the other man up and down, every angle in his shoulders and plane of his cheekbones. He speaks up in almost a whisper just after.

“You don’t appear to be doing this for the girls,” he shares.

“What? Why would I do that?” Momota regretfully asks.

“Don’t know. You look straight enough to try that.”

“I wh—!?”

“But on second thought and closer examination, you don’t look all that straight to me,” Ouma challenges.

Blinking back all of this newfound knowledge, Momota leans back onto the barre with a feverish pair of hands, nostrils flaring and mouth agape. Whichever of these sentences was _more_ offensive to him, Ouma couldn’t tell, but the way Momota’s face steadily travels nearer and nearer to a bright, ruddy shade of tomato red makes Ouma’s grin light up like a set of pearly white piano keys beneath a spotlight.

A few slaps ring out as Ouma jostles his ankles against the floor once more.

“Oh! Is Momota-chan angry with me now? Angry with little ol’ me for having a working gay-dar?”

“That’s not even a thing!” Momota yelps. “Just— Ugh… Stand up,” Momota says, marching across from his station where he’d been stretching just moments before Ouma had taken to harassing him. “Let’s go.”

“What?” yells Ouma in reply, just about shambling backwards on his hands and feet in perfect crab form as Momota approaches closer and closer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Offering the soft underside of his hand to Ouma, Momota cranes downward with earnestness— his gaze both honest and stern in tandem.

“Just trust me,” he insists, and Ouma beholds the arm outstretched to him like some fungus infested appendage.

Irises snapping back and forth between Momota’s olive branch and his eyes, Ouma turns queasy to the way Momota sports an almost meek smile in the time it takes him to make up his mind. He needn’t ask why he’s making such a disgusting face. Momota takes it upon himself to let him know.

“I wanna show you something.”

Ouma purses his lips. Each hand of his presses up against the sleek floor behind him, lifting him up from the ground without assistance.

“This had better be g—”

Within seconds of Ouma’s small body lurching up from the floor and anywhere near the other man, Momota seizes his frame up like a thief.

Up and twirl!

Above the head and back down again!

Momota’s capable hands maneuver the smaller man deftly, the movements crescendoing into a swing near to the earth, allowing Ouma to dangle just inches from the floor. One of Momota’s hands cradles the underside of his ribs, nearly crushing the man to his body with ease. The other of his palms is holding fast to Ouma’s thigh. It presses neatly into his side.

Two puzzle pieces slotted together.

Their faces lie inches apart. Momota grins through panting teeth. Ouma stares wide-eyed, fish-mouthed and gawking.

And somehow, the smile Momota’s wearing feels finally deserved. He chuckles some and it rumbles through his gifted grip, rattling Ouma’s bones.

“See? I told you.”

Momota’s breath is warm across Ouma’s cheeks and neck.

Swallowing hard, Ouma’s tongue catches on… something sharp inside of his mouth. Something poking out of his throat. Something like his heart.

“P-put me down,” he stammers, eyes floating to the ceiling as blood continues to rush to his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been really busy with school and going on vacation. sorrie for less updates.
> 
> edit: muse for writing ndrv3 has waned, but writing all of this was wonderful! this dump is now finished and if i ever write more danganronpa content, it'll be posted separately. thanks for all of your support!


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